


Redemption

by Onassis



Series: The Kyber Crystal series [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anidala, Blood and Injury, Clone Wars, Exile, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hope, Kyber Crystal, Kyber Crystals, Lothal, Love, Major Character Injury, Not What It Looks Like, Obitine, Other, Pain, Regrets, Revenge, Romance, Sacrifice, Star Wars Love, Tatooine, Torture, With A Twist, don't trust appearances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onassis/pseuds/Onassis
Summary: Devoted to his apprentice’s son and fighting for survival on a desert planet, Kenobi has just one last, impossible wish: to redeem himself in the eyes of all those he has failed.Knowing this to be unattainable, he resigns himself to a wretched life in exile…but when a new threat arises, Obi-Wan is confronted with a mind-shattering reality that will put his certainties to the test.**CHAPTER 12 IS UP:Here it was. The kyber crystal. Pulsating with the Force. His life force.He extracted it from the weapon. By separating it from its warlike case of transient human preoccupations, he reduced it to an essential pearl of energy.“This is me at my barest, Satine. A piece of my heart died alongside you in the throne room. This is my heart, Satine...”





	1. Prologue

1) _“Master, can I ask you something? What do you hope for when this war is over? I mean, what do you want to_ do _when all this ends and peace is finally restored?”_

_“Do?! My duty is to follow the Force and its will, Anakin. I will do what it bids me to. No Jedi can ask for anything greater than this”_

_“But don’t you want something else, as well? Something just for you that you can call your own?”_

_“That sounds a bit like selfishness. And possessiveness. Two very un-Jedi-like qualities, are they not?”_

_“That’s not what I_ meant _”_

_“Look. I know you seek more in your life. Something bigger and... well, different”_

_“...”_

_“I used to see it as a stumbling block to your truly becoming a great Jedi, but now I’m not so certain. When this war is finally over, Anakin, whatever path you wish to follow, I will try to support you as best as I can. You have my_ **promise** , my old friend” 

_“Thank you, Master. Truly. You know...sometimes you still manage to surprise me”_

_“I should_ hope so _”_ 1*)

 

Tossing and turning in his own stone-carved bed, the man called Ben was talking in his sleep.

“Mmh ye... yes. You have my promise Anakin!”

The pallet wasn’t that large to begin with, so when he rolled, Ben fell to the ground. He woke up with a start, disoriented, panting and reaching for his lightsaber. He wasn’t at the Temple... no, certainly not. With the Clone Wars raging, he almost never slept in his bed anymore. His bed was where the battle was. He turned to his side, expecting to see the sleeping form of his old apprentice... then it hit him. The betrayal, Mustafar, the journey to his desert penitentiary. He had been dreaming, not a rare occurrence as of late, even for a Jedi.

 On Tatooine, the temperature dropped considerably at night, but the lone dweller of the hut didn’t know if he was shaking from the chill or from the cold within his soul.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1*) Black Horse free comic book day, Miles Lane script
> 
> Kaue, last year you suggested I write a fiction like this one. Looks like the right time has come (though I still don't have much free time on my hands).


	2. Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years into his exile on Tatooine, poor Obi-Wan struggles to find solace in everything he's ever believed in.  
> Meanwhile, in another corner of the Outer Rim, someone else is going through a different brand of exile.

_Dune Sea, Tatooine, 17 BBY_

 

It had been so long since Kenobi had last been happy that he had almost forgotten what pleasure felt like. _Pleasure_. No other word could possibly be less descriptive of his everyday reality.

If to the average overworked Coruscanti retreating in a hut in an unreachable sea of dunes would make for a great sabbatical, to the “last” of the Jedi it was nothing short of torture. His seclusion was an early trip to the circles of Hell that surely awaited him at the end of his miserable life.

Ben silently suffered, mourned, struggled day in and day out, all the while maintaining an emotionless façade, sweeping all the toxic feelings under the carpet of his bleeding soul. The moments he felt most alive were respectively the sizzling middays he spent meditating under the raging twin suns of Tatooine (burning his skin and recalling Mustafar) and the cold, sleepless nights he passed sitting on his roof without a blanket (shivering to the core and reliving the icy waters of Utapau, his near-tomb), for the failings of his flesh reminded him of pain. Pain and sorrow, sorrow and pain. Those were the notes his life played by now, like a lugubrious hymn.

Back on Coruscant, Kenobi had been a dignified, elegant Jedi whose hair only ever got tousled from speeder chases rather than from neglect. Now, in exile, he had forsaken his old life, and, with it, his care for the self: his beard was unkempt, his cloak riddled with holes, his skin dry.

Every day, Obi-Wan woke up with cancerous guilt, feeling a failed Jedi, and a failed man. These convictions, in turn, rendered him even less able to carry out his duties, especially now that the Jedi were virtually extinct. Gone was Master Kenobi, General of the Grand Army of the Republic, as gone were his certainties. He regretted having cut short even a single life during the war, for all it was worth.

Qui-Gon would not be proud. Speaking of whom, he could now communicate with his Force-ghost as much as he pleased, but most often than not was reluctant to initiate a connection, his existential crisis too deep. He truly struggled to put his trust in the Force as he always had in his life; to visualize a bigger picture. After all, he had played no little part in the establishment of the new...order of things. He was not blameless if all hope was gone. Well, _almost_ all.

If Obi-Wan hadn’t gone completely nuts, it was thanks to the child(ren) he was guarding. Leia and Luke. The former was in good hands, set to become a leader, just like her mother. The latter was...well. Stranded on the edge of civilization? Obi-Wan had not questioned Master Yoda’s sudden, arguable decision of sending him to the only planet Vader would never return to. He had complied, probably out of habit, or because he was too shocked to do otherwise. When, after the first few weeks, his hazy mind had cleared enough to fully realize the implications of this choice for the boy - low quality of life, exposure to crime, hazardous environmental conditions and an uncooperative set of foster parents - it was too late to change plans.

While on the one hand Obi-Wan would have rather raised Luke himself out of love for his “fallen brother”, on the other he was glad he didn’t have to. Despite the deal with Yoda that he would train young Skywalker, he had become convinced it was in the boy’s best interest not to be around him much, if at all. He wasn’t up to the task of raising Anakin’s son - not when he had failed so greatly with his father, and he wasn’t even sure that was what Anakin would have wanted.

Of course, it wasn’t like his former apprentice would jump for joy, knowing that Luke was spending his childhood on _Tatooine_ of all places, but Obi-Wan could at least be at peace that he was staying with the last of Anakin’s family. A regular, ordinary family, like the one Anakin always wished to be part of, like the one he himself had never been able to provide, and never would. He felt that was the best he could do to right his wrongs and honor who Anakin used to be. He had always regarded himself as Anakin’s Master, but now he wondered if the opposite was true. The influence the former slave child of Tatooine had had on him was great, though how great, Obi-Wan would never know for sure: Anakin’s presence had opened him up to the deepest meanings of love.

If only Obi-Wan Kenobi could turn back time, there were a thousand things he would have done differently. But this fantasizing on pasts that never happened and on futures that would never take place was just a pointless pain. Nothing would bring the Republic, the Jedi Order, Anakin and Padmé or Satine back. _Satine_. If failure could be rated, then his failure to save her from Maul’s clutches would be off the charts.

He couldn’t redeem himself in their eyes, but he would fight till the end of his days to ensure Luke’s well-being, even if – he acknowledged with a shiver – it meant going against everything the Jedi Order preached.

 

 

_Pryce Country House, Lothal, 17 BBY_

 

The nightmare was vivid, playing in her head with inescapable accuracy.  There was no stopping the torment, only waking up would bring it to an end. But, even dreaming of dark corridors, mass murders and haunted palaces sounded like a more desirable alternative than wakefulness to this miserable human being. As Arihnda Pryce knew, no spoonful of sugar could make her predicament sweet.

A Clone Wars casualty, Pryce had paid a price far higher than she would’ve ever envisioned for sticking to her beliefs: her credibility, her achievements and ultimately, her health.

Pryce’s torso spasmed vehemently, pushing her to press a cheek against the pillow, a pang of pain coursing through her. Panting, she winced in her sleep until a stronger wave of pain took over, jerking her awake. Abruptly. Her breathing still labored, the black-haired woman slowly regained consciousness, realizing she’d been holding onto the fine satin sheets to the point of tearing a few threads with the raw strength of her arms.

Reality rushing back at her, Arihnda Pryce sighed: the cycle of nightmares and sufferance wouldn’t come to an end anytime soon, if _ever_.

She despised the debilitating agony her injuries put her through. She’d had them for a while, yet she struggled to accept the death of her old self and the birth of the new one. Actually, as of late she found it absurdly hard not to _hate_ her own failing body, which, in turn, made her bitter and full of hate.

 _It_ shouldn’t have gone the way it had. Pryce knew it. She knew the overall outcome would’ve been very different had she not been knocked out for good when she was most needed. And the collateral implications, too. The thought of what she’d potentially lost would have saddened her in the past, but now only made her blood boil. She felt responsible in a way that made her loathe everything she used to be: a happier, moral self who miserably failed, nonetheless. Is there still room for integrity in a galaxy where only the “fittest” survive?

Truth was, Arihnda Pryce felt like a beached cetacean. She’d been like that - expelled from the society where she felt she rightfully belonged - since her near-fatal "accident". A positive response to the application she had submitted to the new Imperial Department of Law was where all her hopes for a return to productivity rested; but despite her excellent credentials and insuperable resumé, there was no guarantee the Empire would accept a… _disabled_ woman among its ranks. The term applied to herself still felt foreign, and alien. Pryce was so resentful that unspeakably violent thoughts crossed her once balanced mind. As this black bile filled her, the woman retched, bending in two and spitting real, acrid-smelling black bile.

“Why? Why _me_?” she whined in a moment of weakness.

A gush of wind filtered through the open windows, allowing the long, jellyfish-like curtains to engage in a fluttery dance. Feeling exhausted despite the anger that ignited her every cell, Pryce rested her blue eyes on the elaborate, creamy-colored furniture, their calming frames barely having any effect on her wrecked nerves.

She had hoped retreating in the Belle Époque style country family house would help her recover. Once owned by Arihnda’s great-uncle, Lior, the house was passed on to Talmoor, one his most direct heirs. However, the man was now too busy managing mines to care about vacationing in that nearly uninhabited – albeit lusher and cooler than most other latitudes had to offer– portion of the planet. The late Lior had conceived the house so that it would serve as a platform to nurture and strengthen the influential Lothal family ties. Nowadays, the Pryces didn’t care about that place very much. To an extent, it is safe to say that they barely acknowledged it anymore. What was the point of investing in renovations when interfamilial relationships were – at best – strained? Therefore, it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise that Arihnda sought privacy there – of all places.

Shivering, Pryce wrapped her arms around her aching torso. Apparently, _nothing_ would ease her discomfort. The blister pack of painkillers lying on her nightstand was an all-too-easy solution to her sufferance. One pill, a sip of water and her deepest despairs would drown in a miserable state of drowsiness until consciousness bit back at her. But…no, Pryce wouldn’t surrender to that easy solution that impaired her senses. How could she even expect to return to a semblance of normality if she couldn’t go even two hours without being subdued by stabbing, all-encompassing waves of pain? When eating had been reduced to intravenous nutrition and sustenance pills because the injuries she had sustained had basically deprived her of a digestive tract? When breathing hurt so much? And it wasn’t all: the pillars of her old life now destroyed, she had to extract the required sheer motivation to react and bounce back from within. Easier said than done. Instead, she found herself yearning solitude more and more, one additional reason to hate herself. She despised how weak she had turned out to be in the face of adversity. At times, she felt like she was transitioning into a…monster.

Frustrated, she restlessly tossed and turned, ripping her pajamas top apart, revealing a thick pad of bandages resting on her somewhat pale skin. She proceeded to attempt removing those as well, hurting herself in the process. On the brink of yelling, Pryce held herself back just in time, the risk of waking her ever-present medical attendants (a sedation-happy bunch) up enough of a deterrent. In a fit of rage, she laid hands on an engraved ivory comb, tossing it out of the open window, into the fields. That destructive gesture generated an unforeseen bout of sick and twisted pleasure, prompting her to savagely grab an ancestral pearl bracelet and doom it to the same fate. She was about to hurl a small-sized picture frame, when, as if _remembering something_ , she abruptly stopped in her tracks.

The choleric, grief-ridden light of fury left her eyes, leaving room to a softer expression. Her knees buckled.

Sitting on the edge of her magnificent four-poster bed, she slowly brought the frame closer to her face. Unlike the rest of the furniture and knick-knacks, it was simple, slightly scraped, holding the hurriedly snapped picture of a young, carefree couple with innocence in their eyes and warmth in their naïve hearts. Sobbing lightly, Pryce caressed the surface of the picture, as if wanting to stroke the young couple’s faces, as if they were in flesh and blood. Regretfully, Pryce collapsed on her knees, clutching the portrait against her ravaged abdomen.

“I am sorry…I am so sorry! I will hold on, I promise. I won’t let you down. I will carry on with my plan, for you. I _promised you_ I…would...” tears flooded her face, stunting her monologue.

Silently, her free hand crawled around her collarbone, taking hold of a thin black string. She ran her fingers along its length until she found a stone. The pendant was an item of jewelry Pryce never separated herself from. Her sobs muffled as the grip on the stone tightened, until weeping was no more, signaling that she’d fallen back to sleep.

The next morning, light flooded the countryside as a speeder with the Imperial logo crossed the seldom-traveled route to the old yet well-kept Belle Époque-style building known as Pryce Country House. The place erected itself in the middle of a sparse patch of trees, as if who had designed it had made a slack effort to camouflage it. Moments later the speeder left, having speedily delivered what it was scheduled to deliver.

Shortly thereafter, a servant woke Pryce up with a rare wax-sealed Imperial envelope: an acceptance letter containing a positive response to her application. That day, the woman that once was perished definitely, the new Arihnda Pryce rising from her ashes.

This event marked the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership between the Galactic Empire and the Pryce family of Lothal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arihnda, what's going on??


	3. Meander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two more years have passed, but Kenobi's heartache is far from healed.  
> After a brief visit to the Lars homestead, Obi-Wan is soon back on the march, headed home.  
> Unbeknownst to him, the decision of making a detour will set things in motion in a way he cannot even conceive.

_Tatooine, 15 BBY_

 

It was like any other morning in the Dune Sea wastelands. After a restless night, Ben had kicked himself out of the house for an inconclusive meditation session and an even more inconclusive lightsaber practice. One would think that with all that free time he would easily complete these tasks, but his mind was all over the place.

That day, however, unlike other days, was a “special” one: Obi-Wan was turning forty-two standard years.

 While on his way to his usual patrol, with the double suns beating down on him, he reflected on this milestone. The Padawan inside him could hardly believe it, though, at times, it felt like he had been around for much longer.

The Jedi were inclined to regard the celebration of such personal events as pointless, if not deleterious, and, to Obi-Wan, that day was just another reminder of his failings. Four years on Tatooine and still he was a wreckage. His new lifestyle never seemed to grow on him, no matter what. Throughout his life of missions across the galaxy, Obi-Wan had learned to adapt to the most unthinkable of circumstances, but here...it was different. It was as if he had died alongside Anakin on Mustafar.

Retracing the events that led to that fateful night during the many lonesome hours he spent chastising himself, Obi-Wan had reached the conclusion that, towards the end of the Clone Wars, his dedication to Anakin had become the bedrock of his existence (aside from the Force, of course, but that was something ever-present that went beyond earthly concerns).

His devotion went farther than his promise to Qui-Gon: in Anakin, he saw the wind of change he had secretly come to hope would uplift the Jedi as a group and a way to honor love, especially after Satine’s death.

The two of them had grown closer during the Clone Wars, their already-existing bond paradoxically strengthened by a relationship devoid of expectations. He had never had time to elaborate it back then, but he acknowledged her passing had played a number on him.

His take on life, already shaken from the horrors of war and the contradictions of the Jedi, had changed radically after that. Though outwardly still the encouraging Master who didn’t miss a chance to crack a cynical joke, he had become more melancholy and solemn, two signs of the deep stirrings within his soul. Having lost hope on himself - never a selfish person to begin with - he had concentrated all his energies and hopes on others, more than ever. Compassion had truly become his way of life, as a Jedi. Still, he had failed, in every way possible.

A small herd of banthas was plodding along an imaginary trail, the only companions to his solitary journey.

The wind continually molded dunes in different shapes and sizes, but time in the desert was still. One minute, one year, one century, right there, it didn’t matter.

In that timeless shrine, nature was harsh, straightforwardly blunt.

An insistent little breeze slashed his face, leaving grains of rough sand in his beard.

It doesn’t happen on many occasions in a lifetime that what one feels inside is perfectly mirrored by one’s physical surroundings, but such was the case for this Jedi survivor.

Desert life was hard. He’d never considered himself as someone used to living in the lap of luxury, but Tatooine was bringing humbleness to a whole new level.

“Now I know how it felt growing up here, Anakin”

He was thirsty, but the only water available in the span of several miles was his own sweat, the testament to his vulnerable humanity.

“I am _sorry_ I never understood you enough”

He felt his chest tighten, and tightened his fist as a response.

He observed the intense blue of the sky in front of him, above him, letting that comforting hue fill his wounded soul. Blue sky, the only hope he had on that Force-forsaken planet. He associated the ever-present yet untouchable blueness with _her_ eyes. At times, when he wasn’t devoured by remorse and despair, he almost allowed himself to believe that was her way of fulfilling her promise of undying love. Blue, like that last dress _she_ ’d worn.

_“I’ve loved you always...and I always will”_

 

He had mixed feelings about the last memories he had of her. He was sure he wouldn’t want to ever cancel them from his memory, although if it was out of devotion to her, or out of pure self-punitive guilt, he wasn’t sure.

He remembered vividly her dying sensations through the Force. Her pain, her panic, her deeply intense sadness, accompanied by the disgusting stench of burnt flesh and a sneer coming from her executioner...her terrible pain, which he couldn’t do anything to relieve. He wondered many times if he’d even tried hard enough to save her, or at least comfort her. Wearing the name she had given him as a badge was the least he could do to keep her “alive”.

Why would she pick as lowly a person as himself? He didn’t deserve her, he never had, he never would.

And not only her.

A vaguely suicidal thought crossed his mind...but then he remembered _Luke_.

“My duty is to protect him” he spoke to himself aloud. “It is the Jedi way. Anakin would expect it of me. Satine would want me to as well...”

He would fight to live another day.

 

\--

 

Sooner than he realized, the itinerant hermit reached his first destination, a place that had become a frequent stop during his wanderings: Lars homestead.

Of course, the gentleman in him would have him knock and say hello, but he knew he wasn’t welcome there. Far from that.

While working his way around the house, careful not to get too close, he caught sight of Beru loading a bag of homegrown fennel on the speeder, probably off to Anchorhead’s weekly farmers market. Apparently the Larses’ hydroponic farming business was going well that year. At least - Ben thought - that was granted to provide Luke with more nutrients than a diet of snake would. He grimaced, the foul flavor of Tatooine snake flooding his senses. Perhaps a Jabba broth would taste better. Some days, it was either snake or starve.

With caution, Obi-Wan reached the confines of the Lars homestead, approaching a bare, rectangular group of four rocks that stood out in the sand: Cliegg Lars, his wife and young son and Shmi’s tombs. His stomping into them wasn’t accidental: for two years now, he had paid regular visits to the plot of land that held the remains of the Chosen One’s mother.

As for a lot of other things, starting this habit hadn’t come natural on him: the Jedi had no such things as cemeteries, with few exceptions, relying on cremating their deceased ones instead, in accordance with their set of values. However, Obi-Wan, questioning his beliefs as he’d grown accustomed to doing ever since taking Anakin under his wing, had reasoned that his apprentice would want to know Shmi's memory was cherished. During each visit, Obi-Wan would slip into a semi-meditative trance and kneel. He didn’t ask for forgiveness for himself, but for protection over her son and grandchildren. He felt like a fool but he hoped that, just like a Temple, Shmi’s mystical tombstone could help reach out to her echo through the Force. And slowly, unbelievably, when he wasn’t being ravaged by guilt, he himself had come to consider her as somewhat of a mother. He didn’t know her love, but he knew the way she had loved had been pure and powerful, and that sufficed him as a motivation to worship her.

That visit being no different from all the previous ones, Ben stood up after having reached a newly-found dimension of peace, ready to leave.

Unwilling to step into the ever-hostile Owen, Ben was quick to disappear. The trip back “home” would take a few days. However, feeling less-than-optimistic as he walked, Obi-Wan soon realized that he was in no mood to return to his hut. What was the point of it if he couldn’t even concentrate for meditation? If his pantry was empty, save for a few snake scales?

Normally, he would have sucked it up, but _today_ he had an extra excuse to “pull an Anakin”, if he wanted to: his birthday.

If he had made the effort of visiting Shmi’s grave, then he could act even more gentile than that and stop by the city for a drink. “Why should I?” he questioned himself, trying to dismiss the idea.

But then, considering he hadn’t showed up in a crowded place in well over a month, the “why should I not?” nagging question prevailed. So, the decision final, off to the town of Bestine (the closest larger-than-an-oasis settlement to his hut) he headed.

When he reached his destination, stopping to observe it atop a rocky hill, it was nearly sunset. The town was shrouded in darkness, as it was always the case for that hive of scum and villainy, so Ben did not think much of the negative sensations he got from the Force.

Given the choice, Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t exactly positive he would have picked that, of all places, to celebrate with his dear ones. The mere mental association of the Duchess of Mandalore’s headdress with a Hutt-managed cantina was enough to make him chuckle. He could almost imagine Anakin’s disgusted expression at having to be around “all that sand”. Laughing at the irony of his fate, Obi-Wan trotted down the hill.

“Happy birthday to me!”

Little did Kenobi know, the Empire had picked that day, of all days, to start transforming the minor agrarian town of Bestine into one of its Outer Rim hubs.


	4. Hermes (Messenger)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coruscant, 15 BBY: It certainly looks like Arihnda Pryce is in her element among cold, ruthless Imperials. With the Empire pushing its expansive agenda forward, Pryce is the model employee everyone should look up to. The mere suggestion that there could be an ulterior motive behind her actions is simply ridiculous...isn't it?
> 
> \--
> 
> Mandalore, 20 BBY: Obi-Wan and Satine share a touching moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *one month earlier than last chapter (chapter 3)
> 
> **before being appointed Governor of Lothal, Arihnda Pryce had climbed her way up the Imperal Law Department ladder in this story.
> 
> 1\. Tal Onyo: the captured Mandalorian. Onyo as in related to the Mandalorian Ketsu Onyo from Star Wars Rebels (perhaps her mother). Tal means "blood" in Mando'a. Seemed fitting, given the developments.
> 
> 2\. Mandalorian swear word.

_One month earlier*, Coruscant_

 

It was a gray, gloomy day, sleet adorning every drainpipe and cornice of the immensely tall, construction-block-like buildings.

It was an uncharacteristic weather for the city-planet, though, truth be told, a pretty much characterizing one, given the terror that reigned as an undisputed ruler as of late.

Take the Tower of Justice, the newly established Imperial tribunal. With its 499 floors and shiny walls made of obsidian rock, it raised itself over the city as a totemic despot.

As merciless as Judge** Arihnda Pryce, presiding a court session at the time.

 

\--

 

_Court session_

“Taking the law into one’s hands is often a _very_ bad choice” a steely voice articulated slowly.

 

“I do not abide by YOUR law” a tan-skinned woman with bound wrists and ankles shouted defiantly, trails of fresh blood streaking her freckly cheeks like tears.

 

The ongoing process was getting heated in the packed-full, dark courtroom.

Lawyers and ministers whispered to one another, making estimations concerning the fate of the indicted.

And what an indicted it was. Tal Onyo1, Mandalorian supremacist and Nite Owl terrorist, finally captured on **Tatooine** (the place where she was intercepted while she attempted securing a large order of ion weapons from the flourishing local black market), answering to her many criminal charges.

“In the name of His Imperial Majesty Lord Palpatine, I urge you to recognize the One and Universal Law of the Empire” the voice exhorted icily.

Tal remained quiet for a moment, her peculiar purple eyes sparkling alongside the droplets of spilled hemoglobin. Then, with a savage expression, she spat: “NEVER!”

An intimidating silence descended upon the courtroom. Few had ever dared crossing such a boundary.

“Guards. Shock the prisoner” the voice commanded. The line between judge and executioner could be a thin one.

The entire court shook before Onyo’s appalling shrieks, as the Imperial guards tortured her with electric shocks, boosting the voltage just before reaching the point of no return.

By the time they were done, Onyo had fallen on her knees, bent but not broken.

She coughed up some blood, then announced, undeterred: “You can torture me as much as you want, I will never bow to you! Long live Mandalore!”

At that point, the owner of the voice moved a few steps forward, revealing her appearance to the prisoner for the first time.

Onyo winced. She wasn’t taken aback by the judge’s perfectly even bob of pitch-black hair, nor by her almost fluorescent, pale skin. It was the power in her blue gaze to pierce her right through the soul.

“Very well. Shall I leave your punishment to the discretion of the Court, Tal Onyo?”

These words were welcomed by a small chorus of cheers. Two years on the job, and Pryce sure knew how to engage her entourage to get their full attention.

“Death to the Mandalorian!” someone yelled.

“Public execution!” someone else suggested.

Everyone was trying to ingratiate themselves with that ruthless judge who took so many martial liberties. Such behaviors were rewarded by the Empire.

Judge Obsidian appeared stony and impassible, but upon closer observation, something like sadness clouded her face.

“Enough!” she thundered “Tal Onyo will not pay with her life...”

 More than a few heads turned at this surprising statement.

“Your Lordship, you cannot possibly be serious...”

A few murmurs rose.

But the astonishment didn’t last long, because Judge Pryce’s mercilessness soon swamped everybody like a tornado:

“...because no death sentence would ever be enough of a punishment! Onyo is Mandalorian. Dying for her cause would glorify her. No...” she sneered. “...something much worse awaits you, Tal. You will rot in prison!”

Onyo showed her teeth like a caged nexu.

“It is highly advisable you start cooperating or else...the Court will take endless liberties concerning the fate of your contacts. Mark these words”

The courtroom clapped and cheered, while Judge Pryce, unbeknownst to anyone, swallowed a giant lump down her throat.

 

“Take her away”

 

\--

 

After the heated court session, Pryce was in her somber, no-frills office, massaging her temples all the while cursing tension headaches for all eternity.

She wasn’t alone: Bestine IV businessman turned Exoplanetary Affairs Minister Dangot and attaché Pikes had tagged along to discuss what had just taken place.

All three could agree on the fact that a widespread Mandalorian presence in the Outer Rim was, indeed, worrisome. And what was worst, as it could be inferred from Tal Onyo’s questioning, the Mandalorians were just the tip of the iceberg: countless misfits fled to planets like Tatooine on a daily basis, constituting a dormant, potentially substantial threat to the Empire.

“Unbelievable how the Empire cannot prevent this scum from proliferating in the Outer Rim!” Dangot complained.

“These lawless planets offer too easy of a hiding place for many criminals to bypass… I wonder how many Most Wanted individuals are stationed on worlds the like of Tatooine…” Pikes seethed.

“The legal boundaries alone to an intervention in adjacent non-Imperial territories are countless… moreover the Empire has its own internal affairs to take care of, first: resources are not endless. There really seems to be no answer to this problem. Unless…” Pryce suggested, her voice steady.

“Unless?”

“Unless the two things can be _combined_ …” Pryce’s eyes narrowed.

Two mere years on the job, and so much experience already. Pryce’s voice wasn’t one to be often heard, but when she did speak out, it was usually so spot on she was hard to ignore. She didn’t like to boast, but her knowledge and know-how sure did stand out. Unprecedented for a Lothalian who had never left her homeworld.

“Combined? How so?” Dangot and Pikes asked in unison.

“By establishing an Imperial presence in these… _morbid_ territories before they become irreversibly occupied. It would be preventing _disease_ and promoting the Empire’s expansion at the same time” Pryce opened her arms wide, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, a drop of innocence transpiring from her naturally beautiful face before the usual coldness tainted her features, hardening them.

“It would be an unprecedented move…” Dangot commented, frowning.

“Actually, it wouldn’t” Pryce countered, pushing a button so that the hologram of a document could pop out from a fissure on her desk.

Dangot and Pikes squeezed their eyes, all set on examining the projection before them.

“So, your proposal would be to go and establish an Imperial settlement… as per this… Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s advice”

“Who this Chiss be, may I ask?” Pikes inquired skeptically. Pryce’s back stiffened as a response. She really couldn’t stand that uncouth attaché.

“Obviously, someone who knows what tracking threats down is all about!” Dangot exclaimed, seemingly intrigued by Pryce’s proposal

“He and I have much in common. I suggest you consider we adhere to this course of action, gentlemen. Establishing a series of productive, _secure_ Outer Rim settlements. And, given our most recent, troubling discovery…” Pryce replied matter-of-factly, with a glint in her eye.

“…what better place to start other than _Tatooine_?”

“The Emperor wouldn’t wish to postpone his agenda’s priorities to pursue a few random renegades” Pikes retorted sourly.

Pryce incinerated him with her gaze.

“My _highest priority_ is making sure the Emperor’s agenda is prioritized. In this case, it is about achieving order and justice. A Mandalorian _terror cell_? Far from _random renegades_. Besides, think of the mining opportunities a…Tatooine settlement would provide”

“Oh, oh! Judge Pryce, this mining perspective changes everything! If you allow me, it doesn’t come as a surprise, given your background” cooed Dangot.

“If I am not mistaken, neither does your enthusiasm, Minister. Your people already paved this way when they emigrated from their homeworld to seek fortune on Tatooine, founding the town of Bestine, now a lair of depravity and wickedness, I believe” Pryce skillfully blandished him.

Dangot’s black eyes shone with pride at the mention of his people.

“Very well. Then Bestine should be the starting point. You will be better received in a prevalently human-inhabited settlement”

“Your word is my law in this case, Minister” Pryce sneered.

“Judge Pryce, it is final, then. I will petition this proposal to the Senate. Perhaps we can fast-track it if you assume responsibility as the initial mission leader…”

“Consider the assignment already taken. All I require is a competent team for negotiating with the local crime lords and digging out fugitives, refugees, criminals and whatever scum may have a reason to hide from the Empire. That’s the first necessary step to the construction of an Outer Rim colony… yes… _digging out fugitives_ ” Pryce licked her lips. Her face was mostly unreadable, but her excitement was hard to contain.

Satisfied, Dangot lifted his considerable weight off the chair, motioning towards the exit.

“Judge, I am on my way”

“I will be here, waiting” Pryce’s sentence sounded more like a threat than a reassurance.

 

\--

 

C-3PO rang the intercom to the ironclad mechanical door.

“Come in” a suave voice with a steely undertone encouraged.

The golden protocol droid stomped inside, his circuits alerted. A superficial analysis of the area revealed that he was in an influential place. C-3PO, Senate protocol officer extraordinaire, was not intimidated by such circumstances yet there was something fishy about this place that made him fidgety.

All right, it might not be so weird for C-3PO to be fidgety in the first place, but he sure was much more antsy than usual.

Brandishing the envelope he was told to deliver, he got closer to a desk dominating the center of the room.

An imposing chair turned at once, revealing a tall woman with a clean-cut bob of obsidian hair. Her black silken blouse conferred her the air of a panther.

“Milady” C-3PO advanced, gracefully motioning to lay the envelope on her desk. Before it could reach the smooth, cold surface though, the woman grabbed it mid-air, as a chameleon springing to trap a fly with its sticky, projectile tongue.

C-3PO jolted, a few sparks threatening to erupt from his system.

“I was awaiting you” her blue eyes were so intense that C-3PO feared for his droid life.

Urgency dictating her moves, the woman tore the envelope apart, revealing a comm-link which activated itself at her touch.

A holo-registration of a tired-looking Senator Bail Organa came to life:

“In the name of peace and order, on behalf of the Senate of the Galactic Empire, thanks to the powers conferred to me by His Excellency Emperor Palpatine, I hereby name Judge Arihnda Pryce Chief of Operation Desert Quest to _Tatooine_ ”

C-3PO’s circuitry cringed at Lady Obsidian’s icy laugh.

“Finally” the woman applauded coldly.

She stood up, moving a few steps towards the window and taking in the color of the sky, suddenly pensive. As the reflection of quickly-changing clouds danced in her intense irises, she tugged on the black string around her neck, letting the reassuring weight of her pendant’s stone rest in her palm.

 

“It’s _time_ ”

 

 

 

_Sundari, Mandalore, 20 BBY (1 year before Order 66)_

 

“It was thoughtful of you to stop by, Obi-Wan” said the Duchess of Mandalore.

“After receiving your message, how could I not?”

They were strolling along a deserted, monumental corridor inside the Sundari Royal Palace, heading farther and farther away from the Conference Chamber where an emergency CNS (Council of Neutral Systems) assembly had just taken place.

Unsurprisingly, the meeting per se had turned out to be a triumph of redundant pomp and formality, for the real agreement was brokered in the adjacent refreshment area before the commencement of the formal session, as it is often the case in multilateral diplomacy. The refreshment area was, indeed, were alliances were forged and strategies planned out. An area which coincidentally happened to be devoid of emergency exits.

Knowing she couldn’t fully trust her Guard, the Duchess simply hadn’t felt comfortable hosting the CNS delegates without a security backup, a preoccupation that led her to comm-link her longtime Jedi friend, seeking advice.

At which, Obi-Wan had responded by showing up with less than a few hours’ notice and presiding over the event’s security himself.

From the highest row of the amphitheater-shaped Conference Chamber to his lookout post behind a half-closed door, he always discretely remained in the shadows, for it would not have been appropriate for him to be seen there, or, Force-forbid, be associated with Her Highness herself.

The Jedi were historically seen as foes by the Mandalorians, plus he had the aggravating factor of being a General of the “hawkish” Republic.

“I thought you were busy fighting a _war_ ” the Duchess admitted, jabbing him with her candid tone and raised eyebrow.

“I was on my way to the battlefield, indeed, but Your Highness has a talent for dragging her interlocutors away from conflicts that is... _disarming_ to say the least” he chuckled.

“If only that were true...” she sighed, glancing at him sideways.

“An unreliable Guard is not to be taken lightly, especially in your case” Obi-Wan stated pensively, rubbing his chin.

“And you were willing to deprive your own troopers of their reliance on you?”

“I was within reach when you comm-linked” he explained, suddenly blushing. It wasn’t true. Although in his starfighter, headed to the Japreal System where Anakin and Ahsoka were already stationed, he was nowhere near the Hydian way when she had contacted him. So much for a “little” detour.

“It won’t be a big delay if I don’t linger too long. Besides...”

His voice becoming graver, the Duchess slowed her pace, observing him more closely.

“...I was worried” he concluded.

Noticing his genuine concern, her expression softened with affection, which she immediately tried to conceal, out of habit.

They reached an ample, white-tiled balcony which led to the Sundari Royal Gardens thanks to two opposing flights of stairs. They leaned against the stone banister, one next to the other, taking in the view, the many species of plants and chirping birds a paradise on their strained senses.

Satine studied his hunched posture and his vaguely haunted expression. She had never seen him more restless, or wasted away. Clearly, the toll the war was taking on him was beginning to become visible.

“Something else's troubling you, as well. What is it?” she inquired.

He lowered his gaze, feeling exposed She was so perceptive she could almost touch his vulnerabilities, and it was so overarching he shuddered.

“It’s nothing, Duchess. I am just tired, that’s all. I’m sure you can relate to this”

She didn’t buy it. She felt betrayed. Her blue eyes lingered on his soft ones long enough for him to feel guilty. He moved ever so slightly, so that he could be closer to her.

“All right. It’s Jedi business. We incurred into a... recidivist _problem_ I thought I had taken care of _years_ ago. I was wrong. I failed, and now it’s wreaking havoc across several planetary systems, adding to the burden of war... and I am responsible for it” he admitted without disclosing more details.

The scratches on his face from the last confrontation with Maul and Savage were still visible.

Satine was looking at him intently. She sighed, taking his hand in hers, squeezing it lightly, ignoring his stiffness.

She focused on the windswept trees, and on the pink-turquoise sunset before their eyes.

“When I saw this once-lush planet reduced to a toxic desert as a young girl, I set my dreams aside, swearing I would channel the warrior spirit of Mandalore into something other than weapons. But lately, I can’t help but wonder if anything of what I helped put in place will have a lasting effect”

Obi-Wan relaxed considerably in her touch. Of course, she would understand. She _always_ did. He scolded himself, wondering why he still retained hesitation at opening his heart for her to see. He was always afraid to do so, but it wasn’t like she would hurt it, rob it, judge it. She had to go through so much herself, and yet she was always so... giving.

He squeezed her hand back.

“I’m afraid everything is crumbling, Obi-Wan. More than ever, we’re suffering from the war’s side effects. Poverty is growing, along with discontent. Death Watch appeals to many with its easy promises, and Mandalore is still a largely ignorant society. I am not confident things will improve”

She released his hand, suddenly unreadable, her expression stony. A sign Obi-Wan recognized as her way of maintaining a strong façade, a necessary device if she wanted to survive in her environment.

A part of him was aching to hug her, reach out to her, give himself over to her. But he was immobilized. He hated admitting it, but he was close to letting _fear_ enter his self. Truth be told, he was positive it already had. Why else would he have neglected his duties to rush to her aid?

As the sun sunk lower into the horizon line, the first stars began appearing, gracing the still-azure sky (Obi-Wan noticed the hue bore a remarkable resemblance to his lightsaber blade) with their twinkle.

The night was approaching, so was the Jedi’s departure.

“I’m afraid I won’t inconvenience you much longer, Duchess...” he started ruefully, but with tact.

“Truly _stupendous_ ”

“Wha-... oh. How to contradict you?” Obi-Wan blinked, confused.

She chortled a bit.

“The stars. Aren’t they stupendous?”

“Ah... yes. Yes, they are. I never get tired of watching them” Obi-Wan confessed, somewhat relieved.

“Me neither. They make everything seem _closer_ ” Satine said with depth.

Obi-Wan felt a strange, warm tingling sensation pave its way to his heart. He waited for her to continue.

“Every night, when I look at the stars, such small but potent bright dots over a black canvas, I feel close to those I cannot physically be close to. I feel close to _you_ ”

Obi-Wan’s emotions surged despite himself. He swallowed. She directed her gaze at him.

“You may not see the same stars when the night falls upon whichever planet you are on, but you certainly see the same thing as I do: powerful balls of fire over darkness”

Obi-Wan started stroking her arm without noticing.

“They give hope, don’t they? So simple and small, so many, yet each unique and powerful, with something special to give” he added softly.

His temple brushed against hers as she inhaled sharply, closing her eyes, feeling the ghost of his breath on her neck.

Then, abruptly, she broke away.

Obi-Wan suppressed a disconsolate gasp, the whirlwind of emotions in his stomach too much to bear.

“Simple, that is. Not abiding to a set of _artificial, dogmatic over-constructions_ ” she exclaimed, disheartened.

She was obviously referring to Obi-Wan’s Jedi Code-imposed life restrictions and to her own predicament. She looked away from him, moving farther from where he was standing.

Obi-Wan closed his own eyes, her statement impacting him more than words could tell. He was trembling. He couldn’t fathom why this was happening to him, but he knew he longed to have her in his arms. His companion. His binary star. Stars don’t possess each other. His Code prevented him from speaking his mind, but he wouldn’t keep her in the dark. She deserved his sincerity. So, he used a metaphor.

“Satine, I... look at the sky, every night”

After that, he got tongue-tied.

She stiffened, deciphering his words. Coming from any other man she wouldn’t have thought much of them, but for him to say something of the kind was momentous, as close to a confession as she would get.

She raised her gaze, meeting his, holding it, unafraid to expose herself.

Before they realized it, Obi-Wan was on her, kissing her intensely, parting her closed mouth with his tongue, savoring her lips as she wrapped her arms around him.

With a bold move he never thought he would be capable of, Obi-Wan pressed himself against her body, leaving no doubts as to what his heart yearned. For a man so devoted to courteous negotiations, Kenobi was certainly being rather straightforward. That was, subconsciously, his way of expressing what he could never formulate in words, or even admit to himself.

Satine gasped, sincerely surprised, having realized she was losing a portion of her grip on the situation, something she didn’t often allow to happen as a Duchess.

Thoughts of the Jedi, the New Mandalorians, Death Watch and the war swirled around them as they got lost in their long, healing yet sorrowful embrace.

Eventually, Satine parted from him.

“Kenobi, promise me you won’t do anything foolish”

He blushed violently, realizing how unrestrained he had been. He kissed the backs of her hands, holding them in his long enough for her to feel his warmth, concern tainting his voice.

“Only if you promise you won’t, either, Duchess”

Her expression became strained, knowing those were promises that would be hard to maintain. Her heart constricting, she just leaned forward, kissing Obi-Wan fiercely as he held her close.

Each goodbye they shared felt like _the_ final goodbye.

They retreated inside the Palace just as a cluster of dark clouds began covering the stars from view.

 

“ _Shabuir 2!_ Sold to the Jedi... you debauched, rakish woman will **pay**!”

Well-hidden behind the thick foliage of the Royal Gardens, a Death Watch spy had seen and filmed everything.

He lowered his macrobinoculars, disgust adorning his face.

“Oh, yes. Pre Vizsla will want to see _this_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C-3PO and Death Watch member starring as: the messengers


	5. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday isn't a birthday, without a surprise.
> 
> And if the birthday boy is Obi-Wan, "fireworks" are assured.

_Bestine, Tatooine, 15 BBY_

 

Ben was sitting at one of Bestine’s pubs, his fellow pub-goers as amiable as shady agrarian-Tatooine dwellers can get. The bystanders’ eyes were glued to the flickering projection of a hologram in the center of the pub: the HoloNet was broadcasting a Grav-ball match. Still, this sporting enthusiasm didn’t prevent a few threats from flying.

Curiously though, fugitive Ben found that environment mildly relaxing, the seediness something he put up with for old times’ sake, when pub-going was the first step to securing a new Jedi mission and to… the stars. Oh, how he missed that liberating feeling that he got from just hopping on his starfighter and setting-off on adventurous journeys. Though, Ben was quick to realize that even in the event he would have retained the freedom to depart, he wouldn’t have had the will to. Not when everything he knew had been wiped away. And so _horribly_ at that.

As a bunch of pole-dancing Twi'leks made their entrance in the pub, beginning to entertain customers, Ben turned to his left, noticing a couple of Rodians heavily making out. Hooking up was not hard in a place like that, but Ben had no such wishes.

Actually, he hadn’t desired anything of the sort since _Satine's passing_. The lively flame that once inhabited his eyes had vanished. Every time he crossed paths with a charming woman, it didn’t take long before sadness and guilt filled his soul. Ventress’ wordplay and swordplay no longer enticed him, so much so that he hadn’t interjected when she picked Quinlan Vos as her confidant over him. She must have thought he had lost his mind, so uncharacteristically stiff and unresponsive during their last exchanges.

The door of the pub slid open, allowing access to a cluster of windswept foreigners. They looked disoriented and sported trademark Corellian clothing, standing out in the coarse, jute-dressing crowd. It wasn't rare for Core World and Inner Rim citizens to defect the oppressive Empire as of late, even if it meant relocating on primitive, crime-rife dustballs like Tatooine, so Ben didn’t pay much attention to them. Trading a life in the former Republic for a Hutt-controlled one sure sounded pretty desperate. As in,  _extremely_ desperate.

The Nal Hutta Grav-ball team scored and a chorus of boos rose from a nearby table just as Ben downed the last of his tankard’s contents.

Under normal circumstances, he would have stopped there, but now, as depressed as he was, he saw no reasons why he shouldn’t go for seconds.

He stood up, reaching the counter and pouring himself some more of the drink from a jug.

“Cheers to Obi-Wan and to the forty-two years of _irreparable damages_ he has inflicted upon everyone he has met...” he chanted to himself.

Having paid, he found an empty seat next to two fear-inducing roughnecks who were talking animatedly.

He wrapped his cloak more tightly around his body, slowly sipping on the inebriating fluid and wishing he could forget everything just for that night...when he overheard the conversation going on between the two goons.

"Haven’t you heard? The Empire is conducting a _surprise_ incursion all over Tatooine!”

From the shock, Obi-Wan nearly spit all his mouth’s contents, holding back just in time not to sputter on a large Gamorrean. The last thing he needed was to trigger a pub fight.

He listened on, frantic.

“Hearda. How so?”

“They say they’re looking for displaced Imperial citizens. Unity propaganda bollocks, if you ask me”

Feeling incredibly stupid, Obi-Wan pushed his tankard aside. How could he even be as reckless as to let his guard down?!

“Me don’t buya it. Hunt s’mthing _precise_ , me believe”

“I agree. Why else would they bother sending an Inquisitor down here? It’s not like they’d fret over a few petty thieves, or anything”

“Kriff...  _Inquisitor_ , ya say?”

“Word has it they’re not fooling around this time”

They resumed drinking. To them, that piece of news was little more than juicy gossip. But not to Ben. To him, everything was spinning, and he wasn’t sure it had anything to do with his drink. He was panicking, just as when he’d had confirmation of Vader’s survival, three years earlier.

Taking a few shallow breaths, Obi-Wan tried to get to the bottom of what he had just heard. The Empire was on Tatooine. Or, better, it was on Tatooine, looking for _someone_.

What could that really mean? How alarmed did he have to get? And why were those two stocky goons so worked up about that Inquisitor figure?

Perhaps Vader had thought about Tatooine after all. Genius. Hiding the boy there had been a _genius_ idea!

Or worse, what if the Sith had extorted the information from Organa? Oh, no... _Leia_.

Thinking he might get sick, Obi-Wan stood up and exited the pub from the back door.

 

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, a vintage X-70B Phantom-class prototype with the Imperial logo landed just a few blocks away from where he was, accompanied by a rumble, a small sandstorm and...an obscure presence infusing itself in the Force.

 


	6. Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He was troubled. Not just as a man - there was no doubt where his heart stood on the matter- but as a Jedi, as well: the potential consequences of a coup led by terrorists for a civilization as large as Mandalore’s were immeasurable."
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. enjoy a Jedi canteen menu and some Obi-Wan & Anakin & Ahsoka bantering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **There is a reason for these 20 BBY regressions. They are instrumental in the story**

_Jedi Temple, Coruscant, 20 BBY_

“Don’t you ever do that again, Snips!”

“Come on, Master, you have to admit it was a great idea! And you enjoyed it”

“All right, I might concede it spared us quite a bit of a hassle, and that flying manoeuvre wasn’t _that bad,_ but you could’ve gotten yourself killed, Ahsoka. I can’t understand why you always have to do things on your own!”

“Look who’s talking...”

“Obi-Wan! You’re not helping!”

“Am I not?” Obi-Wan glanced at his former apprentice, masking a mischievous smirk. It was such a treat for him to watch Anakin mature as a Master.

Anakin, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan had just returned from their Japreal System mission, and although it being past dinnertime, they were headed to the Jedi canteen for a celebratory meal, after two weeks on ration bars.

The Temple was all-too-quiet, an indication that most Jedi were off to the front, but the three of them took advantage of the sanctuary-worthy calmness - so different from the racket of war - to restore their senses.

Once they reached the canteen’s entrance, Anakin extracted a droid pass from his pocket for R2, a necessary tool to introduce any electronic device inside the dining area. As a response to the growing terrorist threats, the Jedi had implemented additional safety measures to access certain “high-risk” areas in their Temple, a precaution some saw as long-due.

Having attached the badge to his loyal astromech, Anakin called on Obi-Wan, who was just about to pass through the turnstile at the entrance.

“Master! Wait! I have yours too!”

Obi-Wan turned, confused.

“Mine? What are you talking about? Last time I checked, sentients didn’t need a pass to enter!”

Anakin feigned innocence: “Really? That’s so strange, because this one has your _name_ on it”

“My name?!”

“Precisely... here”

Anakin handed Obi-Wan the droid pass. The older Jedi’s furrowed brow quickly distended as his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets: the badge read “OB-1”.

“Anakin! Is this a joke?!”

Anakin and Ahsoka had tears in their eyes, bent in two from all the laughter.

“What Master? Don’t you like your name?” Anakin mocked.

“It suits you Master, it’s got a nice techno ring to it” Ahsoka followed suit.

“Perhaps that’s the problem, Snips. What about something more flamboyant to match his lordly orotundity?” Anakin suggested gleefully.

Obi-Wan shook his head, feeling helpless.

“Like Kenneth?” Ahsoka dared.

“Too distant from the original. We wouldn’t want to profane his uniqueness...”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Only Anakin could make up something like that.

“Anakin, did you by any chance eat all of Rex’s candy?”

“...got it! _Ken!_ Ken’s perfect! So neat and sexy. Is it what the Duchess calls you?”

Obi-Wan blushed violently, choking on his own saliva, destabilized by the mental image of a tantalizingly-clad Satine calling him “Ben Ken”. Being inside the Temple, it felt more inappropriate than ever. 

“Anakin, at times I wonder what goes on in that head of yours...”

“Admit it Master! Admit it!”

 _“You went really close, my dear apprentice, you went really close”_ he privately told himself while putting on an indignant face, for appearances’ sake.

Eventually, though, the trio worked its way to the food-serving stalls, each carrying a tray.

The Jedi Temple Canteen catered to a vast array of species with different dietary needs, so nearly every edible food group was present.

Succulent free-floating fungal fondu, brekka beet sautéed in Red Nebula onion sauce, fresh Jogans, nuna eggs and beetle scramble, qana bean fried rice and a large glass bowl with an icefish head peeking out of a cloudy light broth were among the options that evening.

As it was often the case throughout the galaxy, due to the high environmental and economic costs of producing meat for billions of individuals, vegetables generally took precedence over animal protein.

Ahsoka, being a togruta carnivore, helped herself to a juicy bantha steak with dioche sauce.

Obi-Wan, his stomach still churning from the bloodshed on the battlefront, went for some hot, comforting soup.

As for Anakin...he picked the beetle scramble of course.

“Why in the galaxy must you stick with these crawly creatures, given the choice!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, eyeing the young Jedi’s plate.

“Old habits die hard” Anakin replied with his mouth full, sucking on a fat larva.

As one might infer, Obi-Wan wasn’t overly fond of insects, unlike the Tatooine boy.

Noticing his Master’s disgusted expression, Anakin - an insect paw sticking out of a corner of his mouth - shoved a crunchy beetle under his nose.

“You never learn, Obi-Wan, you should eat these to boost your energy, how else are you going to keep up with me?! You don’t know what you’re missing out on”

“Never was the darkness of ignorance more appealing...” Obi-Wan countered.

Right in that moment, out-of-breath curious Padawan Caleb Dume* reached the table they were sitting at, with a message to deliver.

“Master Kenobi? Master Yoda requested your presence at the communication center immediately. There is an urgent transmission for you”

Obi-Wan groaned inwardly, his mind instantly traveling to Maul and Savage, or Hondo. What a vexation.

“I’m on my way. Thank you, Caleb”

 

\--

 

The first reaction Obi-Wan had when Master Yoda and Master Mundi declared their firmness on the decision not to help Mandalore - implying the Jedi’s impossibility to safeguard the life of Duchess Satine, for their political and diplomatic stances - was to try and suffocate his emotions, releasing them into the Force as he had always done.

He slowly walked out of the communication center with a lowered gaze, aware of Yoda’s eyes on his nape.

He was troubled. Not just as a man - there was no doubt where his heart stood on the matter- but as a Jedi, as well: the potential consequences of a coup led by terrorists for a civilization as large as Mandalore’s were immeasurable.

Not to mention the foggy yet poignantly barbaric details of Satine’s abduction. As a galactic peacekeeper first and as a General of the Republic later, it is safe to say that Obi-Wan was familiar with collapsing governments, yet there was something vicious to this one case in particular that left him baffled.

An aggravating factor, a source of worry for him, was that Death Watch had no reservations carrying out revenge against Satine. He feared they wouldn’t leave her in prison for long, and this certainly wouldn’t lead to a good outcome, in her case. He had a bad, bad feeling about it all.

He lowered his hood over his eyes, wishing to isolate himself from the outside world.

He knew better than to contradict the Masters’ wisdom, who regarded his concern as sacrilegious, but still...inaction didn’t feel right. The mere suggestion of losing _her_ was inconceivable.

“Release it into the Force. No fear. Only peace” he said, trying to calm down.

But he couldn’t. How could he?

As much as he tried, he saw no escape for her. He knew how she was, more stubborn than himself. She wouldn’t bow to her persecutors’ will.

He clenched his jaw and fists, a knot inside his chest.

As he was heading to his quarters, dragging his feet in defeated acceptance, feeling like a _monster_ and sick to the stomach, he walked into a figure that was stealthily attempting to sneak out of an emergency exit... Anakin.

The young one appeared to be uneasy, and immediately tried to provide a justification for his being headed outside though none was asked of him.

“Obi-Wan! I... am going for a walk. I can’t sleep! Must be from the time zone change!” he exclaimed hysterically.

Strangely, though, Obi-Wan wasn’t paying too much attention to him. He hadn’t raised an eyebrow at him, nor directed a snappy, ambiguous remark at his lousy explanation. It wasn’t like he didn’t know _where_ he was truly headed, after all. He was just crouched on himself, looking old and tired. Such a drastic change from the lively man he’d shared dinner with. Something definitely didn’t add up.

“Master... is everything all right?”

Obi-Wan gave a start, moved. It was so much like Anakin to be preoccupied with the well-being of others, to treat him as a person, _unlike_ the other Jedi.

 _Oh no_. What was he thinking?

Obi-Wan sighed, too perturbed to downright deny the truth.

“I feel like I should do _something_ , Anakin”

Funny. It was always like this, with them. Inseparable yet unable to let go of their insecurities and pride to be completely true to one another. So much so that they had become pros at decoding their half-conversations.

The young one did not detach eyes from him. He was slightly confused.

“Mmh, then why don’t you do it?”

“I... can’t”

“Why not?”

Obi-Wan hesitated. Anakin’s relationship with the Council was already strained as it was without him piling it on with his own complaints, but the ball was already rolling.

“The Council. They don’t approve. It’s too personal”

He lowered his gaze.

Anakin looked horrified.

“But it’s making you suffer! Look at you, you’re a wreckage...”

Obi-Wan raised his head, sighing dejectedly.

Anakin realized it’d been a mistake: “...I mean, not always. I only mean now. Wouldn’t it be easier if you just did what felt right to you?”

“No”

Anakin was starting to grow impatient, be it for Obi-Wan’s pig-headedness, be it for the more-than-uncompromising intentions of his own nocturnal stroll. He didn’t want to make Padmé wait… but at the same time he couldn’t just leave Obi-Wan as if nothing had happened.

“Why not?” Anakin inquired, irked.

“It would be _selfish_ ” Obi-Wan sighed, defeated, trying to buy an explanation that made less and less sense.

Anakin had enough of it.

“Ooh, give it a rest, won’t you?! You and the _kriffin’ Council!_ ”

Obi-Wan was jerked out of his trance, suddenly becoming aware of how big of a mistake it’d been to involve Anakin in this.

“Anakin...”

“NO! Don’t you “Anakin” me! So helping those you care about is selfish? In my book, it’s much more selfish to ignore a plea! How are you supposed to be a Jedi if you can’t be true to your life mission at all times? If you can’t let compassion drive your decisions? Why is it okay to discriminate between those who are in need?! What is it you’re serving, Obi-Wan?! The Republic? Or _peace_?”

Obi-Wan was left speechless.

“I can’t stand being around you anymore!” Anakin yelled, storming outside.

Obi-Wan remained still, staring at a wall in front of him, as if petrified, Anakin’s words cutting right through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kanan!


	7. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Imperials are on Tatooine! Obi-Wan spies on them from a rooftop, determined not to get caught, but some circumstances are simply beyond the scope of his control...

_Bestine, Tatooine, 15 BBY_

 

Hideous and surreal. There was no other way of describing the Imperial delegation’s arrival.

Or at least, that was what Ben Kenobi thought from his hideout on a flat, walled roof, where he could get a good overview of the street, and of the Imperials. 

By the looks of it, they hadn’t wasted any time “making themselves at home”, stopping random pedestrians or curious bystanders to ask for their credentials. 

Registration at birth wasn’t compulsory on Tatooine, yet almost everybody possessed some form of identification document, for fear of facing the consequences of tax evasion with Jabba. 

Obi-Wan, living in a hut far from other life-forms, had never done anything to procure himself a fake one, and now he kicked himself at how careless he had been: in case he would have to interact with them, he’d be in serious trouble – provided they wouldn’t recognize his face first.

The possibility of an Imperial incursion always seemed an improbable scenario in a distant future, especially since he lived timelessly in the desert, but apparently, such wasn’t the case. The list of things that could go wrong from then on was endless.  

“What does it _mean_ , you don’t remember where you put it?”

An icy female voice reached Ben’s ears, sending a chill down his spine. Flat on his stomach, he moved a bit as to get a better look of the scene that was playing in the alley below. The suns had long set over Bestine, giving way to the usual array of illicit nightly activities.

A street vendor was waving his arms about, desperately trying to justify the absence of an identification card to his persecutors.

“I swear! I’m no Empire citizen!” he yelled with a heavy Huttese accent as a trooper pointed a blaster at him.

“You’d better prove it then!”

As Ben had ascertained earlier, a committee of five Imperials had descended the ship: three armored troopers and two officials, a woman and a man, the uniforms of whom told nothing to him. 

She appeared to be in charge, but, truth be told, it was the other party’s excessive quietude to worry him. He wasn’t even sure what species the humanoid man belonged to, probably a mix of Mirialan and Muun. He looked young, barely more than adolescent, and his dark clothing bore a vague resemblance to a Jedi tunic.

As for his female counterpart...behind her tyrannic demeanor, she was enigmatic to say the least; starting from her fleeting, ambiguous Force-signature. Through the desert headscarf she was wearing as a protection from the sand, he could get a glimpse of a few wisps of black hair. 

Feeling unexplainably drawn to her, Ben craned his neck, wishing to see more of her, when her male sidekick abruptly turned his head up, his eyes scrutinizing the roof. 

With a jolt, Ben withdrew just in time not to be seen, toning his own presence down as much as he could.

Ouch. Force-sensitive. What in Yoda’s name was that being?

“Something’s wrong, Inquisitor?” the black-haired woman inquired bitterly.

“Oh, so this is what an Inquisitor looks like?” Ben wondered from the rooftop, frowning.

“Nothing excessively noteworthy, Judge Pryce. Although, you will concur that in a _hive_ of this sort, pest control is long due” he spoke slimily, if slightly aggressively.

“Judge Price? What a tacky title. This Sith Empire really strives to be the caricature of itself” Obi-Wan thought, squirming internally, his renowned battlefront antics beginning to kick-in.

“That’s precisely why I demand this _grub_ collaborate with us” she added, gesticulating so that the troopers could move around and trap the poor street vendor. 

The Inquisitor, although silent, seemed peeved, as if questioning the utility of a prolonged interrogation on such a bland character. 

Right there and then, it occurred to Ben that he was a predator. A silent feline, whose hunting techniques he had an inkling wouldn’t have to wait long to be revealed.

Notwithstanding his anxiety, Ben couldn’t deny he harbored a degree of curiosity for this new character, if anything because he presumed his training had not fallen in the hands of the Jedi. Would the Sith bother to introduce new disciples to their ways? It didn’t seem reasonable, but then again, he knew better than to be surprised by Sidious, who, throughout his long tenure, had more than compensated for what the Jedi had lacked in resourcefulness and adaptability.

In the meantime, Judge Pryce continued to harass her victim.

“Please! I don’t know anything!” 

“Sir, I hope you do realize you are only worsening your position. As Empire officials, we cannot tolerate such a level of indiscipline. We are led to assume you are hiding something”

“No! This is not true!”

“So you won’t have anything to object if we search your stand?” she spat the last word with true disgust, nonetheless never ridiculing herself to the point of losing authority. 

Ben couldn’t believe how ruthless that woman was being, but she sure knew how to play her part, he concluded as the troopers mercilessly shuffled through the poor man’s belongings, sending some of them flying in the sand.

As one of the soldiers shook a flimsy-paper parcel, a few thin, cylinder-shaped red sticks came rolling out of it, scattering all over the ground: death sticks, in a quantity too great for personal consumption. 

Ben heard the vendor howling in maddening desperation as a blaster was pointed at his back.

“I am no slythmonger, I swear!”

“I am running out of patience, and the Empire is running out of time. Soldiers, handcuff him. We will bring you to our base for questioning”

The man paled considerably.

“NO! I… will tell you everything I know!”

“Now, this is what I call reasoning”

“Such an improvement from the “bloodthirsty” Jedi” Ben thought sarcastically.

“It was the Rodian at the main street pub! He’s always there, you can't go wrong!” the vendor shouted.

“I beg your pardon?” Judge Pryce blinked pompously.

“He’s the sticks’ wholesaler” the vendor quivered.

“I don’t care who sold you those death sticks. You know what we _want_ ” Pryce seductively hinted.

Honestly. Ben couldn’t deny the harpy had class.

The now blowzy vendor forcibly nodded, panicking with uncertainty.

“Do I?”

Judge Pryce cleared her voice. 

“The dissidents. Where can we find them?”

The man was frantic, overwhelmed by the sudden nightmare he was experiencing.

“I don’t know any of them personally...”

“What Lady Pryce here is asking, clodhopper, is if you are aware of any place where conglomerations of foreigners may gather themselves” the Inquisitor prodded, close to losing his cool.

“I..uh, yes. O-of c-c-course! Try at... the junk dealer‘s?” the vendor tentatively proposed, but was immediately taken aback by Judge Pryce’s indignant, Banshee shriek. So was Ben.

“The _junk dealer’s!_ What is it with everyone here about that foul place! I asked for dissidents, not spare parts and slaves! Is this the best you can do?!"

She blurted as a trooper menaced the vendor with an electric staff.

"NO! No... the abandoned Nerf shed?”

“A Nerf shed, then? Inquisitor, take note!”

The Inquisitor wrinkled his nose.

"The Old Space Carpenters Guild!” the vendor continued with hopeful excitement.

"The Old Space Carpenters Guild” Judge Pryce repeated.

“Also, try and check at the moisture...”

Obi-Wan was glad he was already flat on his stomach, for the dizzy spell that took over him when he realized the vendor was about to incriminate the moisture farmers would have certainly knocked him out.

_“Oh no, Luke!”_

There was no way the Inquisitor would miss out on the boy’s Force-sensitivity, likely leading to the uncovering of his parentage from the official blood sample database. He couldn’t risk exposing him like that. But he couldn’t even compromise his own position: as much as he liked to believe otherwise, Obi-Wan knew that, to Luke, he was irreplaceable. That meant that disclosing his own Jedi-ness was out of question, and this could complicate things, especially since he wasn’t sure if the troopers were clones to begin with. If that was the case, they would have missed no time trying to neutralize him.

With a fraction of a second to spare, Ben noticed a heavy looking crate perked on the roof right next to him, and did the first thing that came to his mind: he pushed it down.

As it turned out to be, the crate was full to the brim with smuggled halo-lamps, which, smashing against the ground after a fall of a couple of floors, exploded.

The booming bang resounded with firework-like sparkles of blinding light, scorching, dagger-like shards and a cloud of suffocating dust.

The Imperials were forced to duck, seeking refuge, right as the vendor, whose eyes had already flashed with shadows of doomsday for the day, took advantage of the mayhem and fled the scene.

Hardly discreet. But, if this gimmick had worked, Ben was more than willing to call it a success. Now, all he would need to do was change his position not to arouse suspicion...

On the ground level, coughing amidst the dust cloud, Judge Pryce clumsily stood back on her long, black-trousered legs.

The Inquisitor followed suit, looking less than pleased

“Something’s not quite right  _here_ ” he growled, eyeing the roof.

In the meantime, Ben was studying an escape route, when a voice put a halt to his efforts.

 _"Yoka to bantha poodoo"_ (You are bantha fodder)

That made Ben's skin crawl.

Attracted by all that bedlam, the crate’s owners - or as it would be more correct to say, smugglers - had rushed to the rooftop, bumping right into...Ben.

“I’m afraid, gentlemen, that this is but one huge misunderstanding” the Jedi persuasively tried, with his trademark calmness. Perhaps he would win them over.

Or perhaps not.

“Come on, you threw us a “firework party” and wouldn’t expect us to return the _courtesy_? Guys, let’s give this hobo a taste of our blasters!" the largest and meanest-looking smuggler spurred.

Ben felt like a desperate juggler juggling too many dangerous ticking bombs at the same time. He was tempted to mind-trick the gang into confusion, but that would have meant using the Force, therefore jeopardizing his position. At this point, he knew he had no choice left but to get out of dodge, but at the same time he didn't want to lose track of the Imperials.

The ugly mugs approaching, he thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, when he sensed an additional presence getting closer...the Inquisitor!

Ben ran. He started off an epic rooftop chase, as he Force-jumped the space between two roofs, and the one between the next two as well, lackeys always at his throat.

He flipped and vaulted, steering clear of occasional blaster shots.

As his joints groaned under his weight after each leap, he couldn’t help but wish he were as fit as during the Clone Wars. 

Rushing as much as he could, he reached the end of the block of houses, closely followed by his angry pursuers, who wasted no time encircling him. One of them lunged at him with a knife, ripping a tear into his already-ragged cloak.

In the heat of the moment, he was left with no choice but to unsheathe his lightsaber, at which the smugglers guffawed with glee. 

“Who gave you that trinket, hobo?”

“Back off, and your limbs will thank you” Obi-Wan ordered.

The smugglers all laughed.

“Who do you think you are? A Jedi?” their leader mocked.

They laughed even more.

“It looks like it’s the real deal...” one of them commented on the lightsaber.

“Who would’ve guessed it? Our raggedy pal is a connoisseur, that weapon’s worth a fortune on the Black Market”

Given their over-eagerness, it became clear to Ben that their main aspiration had shifted from beating the life out of him to snatching his saber.

There was no time for hesitations. Ignoring the mugs’ boos of protest, Obi-Wan threw his lightsaber downstairs, in the dark, thin corridor between two buildings, levitating it so that it could stay afloat and he could keep its localization in mind.

He would have to recover it, but now it was vital he jumped down as well: the goons were not pleased with his last move. 

Having circled him like a hunted prey, the men sneered. Trapped, Obi-Wan stopped cold in the middle. There were ten of them, one – unarmed – of him.

Flushed and panting, he attempted negotiating, though to no avail. To him, this came as no surprise: some cases really were hopeless, as Anakin used to say.

He Force-flipped drawing an arc in the air and landing on one of the roof’s border walls.

The structure was rickety: he would not last long unless...he did something drastic.

Sensing the Inquisitor’s imminent arrival, he hurriedly examined his options, eyeing a rusty-looking metal bar a few meters below. Thinking about using it as a bridge to reach the other building at the opposite side of it, he flung himself at the bar, instantly grabbing it.

His hands instinctively tightened the grip around it for dear life as he hanged midair, the smugglers barking above his head like an angry wolf pack. He had to get going, and so did he...until the bar, being too rusty, collapsed, sending him falling back first on the ground.

One Jedi could only manage so many things at the same time, so, to dampen his fall, he was forced to lose the Force-grip on his lightsaber, which plummeted on a bin in the dark alley with a thud.

“Truly remarkable, Master Kenobi" he scolded himself, his back sore. Force, he really was out of shape. At least the fall was bound to grant him an advantage over the vengeful gang.

As the dust cloud that had risen all around him cleared, though, his expression went from hopeful to downright horrified as he realized that...he had fallen right into the Imperials' clutches.

Too shocked to close his mouth, he could only stare and gape as the three troopers surrounded him, weapons at ready.

A dark silhouette appeared in his field of vision, its lines sleek, its pace unhurried.

“You're strong with the Force” the Inquisitor greeted him, his tone a mix of disdainful and curious.

“Excuse me?” Ben played ignorant, trying to buy himself more time. Not quite knowing what to expect from any of these characters made it hard to visualize a course of action. As far as he knew, the troopers hadn’t recognized him, but they still could.

“Don’t play dumb with me” the Inquisitor commanded “You know what I’m talking about. No commoner with a low Midi-chlorian count could have survived that fall. Now, the question is...” he hovered over Obi-Wan, studying him closely, making the Jedi grateful for the surrounding darkness “...what does this make of you?”

The young Inquisitor’s presence swam with free-ranging emotions of pain, rage, even nostalgia. He seemed dedicated to his role, yet his indecisiveness held him back, pushing Ben to wonder why such was the case, further challenging his understanding of the situation.

“Are you a Jedi?” he asked, his yellow eyes widening.

Ben realized it was a question the Inquisitor had asked more to himself than to anyone around him, however, not to throw his already-precarious circumstances off-balance, he decided to provide him with an answer.

Only thing, he never had time to formulate one.

“He is _not_ , Inquisitor” a female voice arrogantly chimed in.

Obi-Wan raised his head, watching the one missing Imperial, Judge Pryce, step in in all her authority.

Her headscarf now gone, her pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness, enhancing her features. She forcefully established eye-contact with him, as if impatient to do so. Though lasting barely more than a moment, it was enough to leave him breathless. A gasp fled Ben’s lips.

“Judge Pryce, how can you be so certain?” the Inquisitor asked, his disappointment at having had to interrupt his train of consumptive, hate-filled thoughts clearly audible in his voice.

“Inquisitor, while you were busy _contemplating_ this infelicitous individual, I promptly checked both the Most Wanted List and the extensive Imperial Database. The research yielded no match” she thundered.

“With all due respect, Judge, but I have the final word on this matter...” the Inquisitor hissed.

Obi-Wan was trembling, trying to control his breathing as not to appear too agitated, which he was.

Judge Pryce was silent for a few moments, face darkening, irises flashing as if on fire.

When she finally spoke, her voice was so dangerously low it was scary.

“This vagabond is no Jedi. The databases speak clearly. Your word against mine, Inquisitor. Are you sure you want to question it?”

If Ben was confused before, now he was positive he had lost his mind. What in the name of the Force was going on? He wasn’t sure if his senses were playing a trick on him, but he even thought he had caught the slightest flicker of fear in the Judge’s eyes during a fleeting moment when their gazes met again.

“If this is it, Judge” the Inquisitor countered, quite worked up “then you will not question my judgment, and with it, my decision to interrogate this man. My intuition tells me he may be the key we have been looking for, no amount of bureaucracy can convince me of the contrary!”

Then, he hoicked Obi-Wan’s shoulder, grabbing him by the cloak.

“Tell us your name”

At this simple demand, Judge Pryce’s back stiffened.

“Ben Ken” he answered a bit too quickly, not to arise suspicions.

“Ben Ken?” the Inquisitor repeated with diffidence.

 _“Ben Ken?”_ Judge Pryce snorted, seemingly amused.

Honestly, Ben, you sure can do better than that - he told himself.

“What do you do for a living and why were you snooping around us?”

As the interrogation continued, Ben realized with the corner of his eye that the smuggler gang had descended the building, rummaged through the dark alley’s bins and crevices and had emerged victorious, cheering as they got hold of **his lightsaber**.

“We’re rich! We’re rich, guys!”

They sneered and mocked him from afar, before boarding a speeder, never to return.

Obi-Wan plunged into a state of despair as he witnessed his lightsaber, his “life” get whisked away by that group of spiteful prowlers. He was denying his being a Jedi, and, in a sense, he felt it had become the reality, now that his weapon was forever lost, off to its way to being sold, dismembered, profaned in all ways possible. Just like himself.

The worst part about it all was that he was utterly helpless to prevent any of it, if he wanted to save his actual life. More depressed than ever, he released his desperation in the Force, something which wasn’t lost on the Inquisitor.

“You...suffer. Fear. Frustration. Why is that so?!”

His opponent didn’t seem overly skilled, his mental probes were nothing a Jedi Master couldn’t work his way around, however Ben had to recognize he was exceptionally receptive of emotions, managing to catch and classify even the slightest of changes from his interlocutors.

He rested his chin on his chest, obstinately avoiding the penetrating yellow gaze. The Inquisitor shook him.

“I am running out of patience! Troopers, go get our transport. We’re bringing him back to our base for questioning. The Hutts will certainly be able to tell us something more about this absconder of sorts...”

Seriously, Ben wondered if his life wasn’t but one nasty joke.

The Hutts? After such an unbelievable day of misfortunes, now the _Hutts_ , too? This was new. So now the Empire was officially in cahoots with the criminal moguls? He thought they’d rather be competing.

With the zen-like resignation so typical of Jedi who find themselves in trouble, Obi-Wan opposed no resistance as he was escorted to the transport.

\---

They were flying low above the dunes, rocks and sand alternating themselves in a labyrinth-like succession.

Obi-Wan’s cheekbone was sore from the stock of a trooper’s blaster, but the pain was nothing in comparison with the recurrent images of Luke, of the Lars homestead, of the Empire that kept tormenting him. What would be of them all now?

Despair risked to get the upper hand, but it wasn’t all. As much as the hypothesis seemed unthinkable, Obi-Wan was becoming more and more convinced of being in the middle of an obscure design the machinations of which were unclear.

This conviction was strengthened every time he looked at the anonymous grin of the three helmets who hadn’t fired, at the icy-eyed Judge who had judged erroneously or even at the Inquisitor’s torn spirit.*

After Order 66, Obi-Wan had become convinced that life had nothing left in store for him, but now, as the ship traveled to uncharted territories of the Unknown with the rising lights of dawn, he had the neat feeling of having turned a page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quite the conundrum, for Ben.


	8. Rings familiar?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 8 is up! For the Anidala fans out there, plenty of Anakin/Padmé action ;-). Bonus: Ryoo and Pooja torture their aunt.

_500 Republica, Coruscant, 20 BBY_

 

 

Kissing. Kissing. Twisting. Eager hands, all over. Intense eye-contact. His fingers through her jasmine-perfumed hair.

Finally, some time to themselves.

 

And then he bites. And she moans in fake protest, slaps him, giggles and proceeds to move this to that long, never-ending couch.

Never-ending, like the list of things they plan on doing to each other.

 

“Anakin...please” Senator Amidala rolled her eyes in pleasure as her lover devoured her neck with kisses.

“Already pleading, my angel? If you can’t handle me now, I wonder what will become of you later...” Anakin’s voice faded in a gasp of excitement as he finished his sentence.

“Anakin, you bad boy!” she purred, holding up a garter-adorned thigh for him to unwrap.

Like a feline in heat, the young Jedi promptly completed his task.

“Who’s the bad one among us, again?” he asked triumphantly, letting the laced garter dangle from his middle finger.

 

Padmé was about to reply, but he suffocated her words with a hungry, territorial kiss.

“Shall I worry, Senator? What are you hiding under this robe you went to work with?” he theatrically parted Padmé’s senatorial robe with the Force, sending the buttons flying in all directions.

Oh well. Dormé would fix them. As usual. The poor thing couldn’t bear to look at Padmé in the eye anymore. Oh, if walls could speak.

 

Padmé’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink as Anakin’s pupils dilated, taking in the sight of his scantily dressed wife.

Padmé’s demure shyness, however, wasn’t destined to last long.

“...the correct question, Master Skywalker, is: what am I _not_ hiding under this robe?” she questioned boldly.

Anakin’s neck veins throbbed as he felt blood rushing to his nether regions.

Four-legged, he thrashed toward Padmé, extending his prosthetic arm to lift the thin, transparent veil that wrapped her waist, not quite capable of doing it with his own flesh.

Padmé, though, was quicker, blocking him by lifting his chin with her hand.

“Halt! Not quite yet...”

 

Obviously, Amidala and Skywalker were more than happy to be reunited, at last.

The grueling weeks spent apart could never pass fast enough, but on the flip side they made their reunions all the sweeter. And, truth be told, _hotter._

 

That day, Padmé had decided to surprise her husband with a revealing outfit under her sober Senate gown, manifesting in that way just how much she had missed him.

Needless to say Anakin appreciated this greatly, as it was always the case for anything that had to do with his wife.

He had returned from a mission in the Japreal System that very evening, while Padmé had just arrived on Coruscant after a week-long diplomatic trip with her fellow Naboo representative, Binks.            Understandably, as tolerating as she might be, she was looking forward to spending her time with someone other than Jar Jar. She was pretty positive this time her patience had been stretched to the limit. Staying with Binks truly stinks. Thankfully, now, there was her Ani to relieve her wrecked nerves.

 

“Ani! Don’t stop, Ani!” she roared, wrapping her arms around his head and grabbing fistfuls of his mane-like hair - thus successfully obscuring his field of vision - as he lifted her off the ground.

“Aaargh! There’s no stopping from here to the Outer Rim!” he roared back, walking straight to Padmé’s bedroom, across the lavish apartment, half blind.

Plopping her on the king-sized bed a bit overenthusiastically, he ripped the remnants of Padmé’s thin veils apart.

“Ride me like a Boonta Eve pod!”

 

Padmé chuckled at his inveteracy in a slightly maternal, welcoming way, then she shocked him with yet another move, swiftly getting rid of her ripped pieces of clothing with a whip of her torso.

As she did so, all her thick, richly curly, freshly conditioned hair spread as a mantle before Anakin, arousing him even more. He loved the scent of the shampoo from the Turquoise Sea of Naboo she used, and he loved her hair. And she knew that well.

 

However, it was the sight that he was presented with when Padmé’s hair parted, returning to its original position, that left him gasping for air: she was all naked, except for a thin strip of stones wrapping itself around her shoulders, down her navel, around her hips. An ample fig leaf - freshly picked - was precariously placed between her legs, hiding her most intimate region from view. How little it would take to remove it.

 

Anakin wasn’t strong on self-control, and all of this proved to be too much for him: “Oh, FORCE!” he yelled, quickly undressing.

Padmé giggled, proud of her achievement, faking opposition as Anakin closed the distance between their bodies.

“Padmé, you should have placed a warning label on that robe!” he exclaimed distractedly, his eyes fixed on her violet nail-polished hands which were toying with the elastic band of his boxers.

“It should read: don’t open...public...safety...hazard...ooh!” his voice turned into a loud moan as Padmé found his “lightsaber”, as she called it.

“Master Skywalker! Always ready for a duel, aren’t we?”

Anakin’s eyes shone with lust: “Be prepared, because I’m ready to sword-fight all night!”

“Mmh, try me” she licked her lips, foretasting the many hours of alone time they had ahead.

“All...night...long...” Anakin rasped, watching his tantalizing wife approach him.

“Yes, all night, and _nothing_ ’s going to interrupt us!”

 

DRIIING

 

The sound of a doorbell is all that it takes to generate an intense, all-encompassing, pleasure-stunting reaction.

 

From the utter shock, surprise and disbelief, Anakin Force-jumped backwards away from the mattress, his butt hitting the floor.

Padmé gaped and automatically tried to pull the sheets over her close-to-naked body.

“Who...who...” the words didn’t want to leave her throat. Anakin looked at her, panic written across his face.

 _Who_ could it be?

 

DRIIIING

 

“Padmé, who’s that?” Anakin blabbered while frantically putting his pants back on.

“How am _I_ supposed to know?” Padmé shrieked while manoeuvring to get off the bed, almost slipping on a silken nightgown in the process.

 

 DRIIIIIING

 

“C-3PO!” Padmé cried across the apartment while hurriedly tying the ribbon around her housecoat.

The shiny silhouette of the protocol droid peeped out of the bedroom door.

“C-3PO! Tell them I’m coming!”

“Of course, Milady”

 

As they heard the droid’s stiff steps get farther down the corridor, Anakin muttered something along the lines of “you and your Senate folks” which prompted Padmé to react:

“Don’t you even begin it! What if someone followed you from the Jedi Temple instead?!” she accused, hands on her hips.

It was remarkable how such a sensually charged situation could turn into a stressful disaster so quickly.

“That’s some faith you have in me!” Anakin retorted, irked.

His ego wouldn’t have him admit it in front of Padmé, but, on the back of his mind, he wondered - with a shudder - if she were right.

 

As they strode their way to the living room to fetch and hide any “incriminatory” item or balled-up piece of clothing they might have left unattended in their copulative frenzy, Anakin lent an ear to the entrance of 500 Republica. He could hear multiple voices chatting outside. And quite loudly and animatedly at that, almost as if a small crowd was stalled there. No remarkable Force presence, either, which tranquilized him, but still...who could it be? An anti-clones, Amidala-friendly syndicate? Who had the cheek to ring so late at night?

“What the kriff?” he murmured ever so imperceptibly.

 

Barely moments later, he saw Padmé stiffen as the door was unlocked and the voices were heard more clearly.

“What...?”

But he needed not wait for an answer, for C-3PO soon came with his usual dissociated wire-quivering enthusiasm and a merry announcement:

“Mistress Padmé, your family has come to pay you a visit! Isn’t it a _marvelous_ surprise?”

 The trouble couple exchanged an alarmed look.

 

“A _marvelously timed_ surprise indeed...” Padmé muttered under her breath.

“Shall I let them in?”

Padmé blinked “Uhm, don’t bother 3PO, I’ll go do it myself...” she strutted, trying her best to appear in control.

All of a sudden the chatter got louder, the sounds of several feet of different sizes pounding against the floor reaching their ears. They were inside!

Anakin puffed his cheeks.

“Why didn’t you let 3PO stall them?”

Padmé batted her lashes using her most contrite senatorial tone.

“Anakin, I’m perfectly capable of handling...”

 

“Padmey honey? Where are you?” Jobal Naberrie’s voice resonated melodiously across the corridor.

 The married couple gazed at each other worriedly.

“Quick! Get lost!” she clapped her hands at Anakin, a gesture which made him feel like a misbehaved dog, killing the last of the live coals of his passionate intentions.

Anakin snorted, half-heartedly looking around the living room in search of his possessions. There was no way he’d be able to collect everything before the Naberries barged in, which they’d already done, so he settled for dashing inside Padmé’s gown closet, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. A part of him selfishly wished that Padmé’s relatives would just hang around for the equivalent of a quick visit, but the premises told him otherwise.

 

With the Clone Wars raging on, he could never get enough of the sporadic moments spent alone with her. It wasn’t just simple need to be together, as it had been at the beginning. The need, of course, was still there, alongside the love. But it was laced with something thicker, more obscure. Call it possessiveness, call it fear of loss, truth was, the war was taking a toll on him, as it was on everyone who fought - or otherwise experienced - it.

Now, the question was not if, but how much this had affected his true self. Perhaps the answer would have to wait. Unlike the Naberries’ reception, apparently.

 

Through the slim crack of the closet door, Anakin could still distinguish most shapes and sounds, and he was shocked to see one of Padmé’s little nieces tiptoeing around the living room, making blaster sounds with her mouth. The whole gang had come. He heard his wife’s voice getting shrill, a clear indication that she was walking on eggshells. He had always been fond of his in-laws, but he sure didn’t envy her right then.

 

At the same time, Padmé had reached her family members, who were about to exit the atrium and disperse themselves in the living room, and was stunned to discover that not only her parents had showed up unannounced, but her sister and both nieces, too.

Under any other circumstance, Padmé would have felt overjoyed for this impromptu visit: since entering politics as a teenager, despite having been granted many incredible opportunities, she’d always suffered a degree of loneliness, a sort of familial void, which was, in part, cured by her proximity to Anakin.

Unlike her sister, Padmé had never, in fact, experienced a carefree youth, having been burdened since the very beginning with responsibilities and a sense of allegiance that went beyond her family unit. Therefore, the brief escapes from reality the Naberries could provide were all the more desirable to her.

 

Unless you’re desperately trying to hide your scandalous outfit under a slippy housecoat, that is.

Of all the versions of herself she would happily display in front of her parents, “kinky Padmé” was _not_ one of them.

For some reason, despite having come of age (under so many aspects, literally) a long time ago, Padmé ascertained that she couldn’t help how utterly bare she felt in that situation.

Now, wrapping the ribbon around her waist to the point of near-asphyxiation, the Senator braced herself for what was ahead.

 

“Mum! Dad! Sola! Girls! What do I owe this unexpected visit?” Padmé’s pupils darted in every direction, at the different heights her family members stood at, as she attempted not to make the smile on her face look too neurotic.

“My dear, we hear of you so sporadically these days, let alone see you! Considering how busy you clearly are with this dreadful war and everything, we thought we’d surprise you for your _birthday_!”

 

Padmé gave her mother a funny look, something which bore a vague resemblance to Halle Burtoni’s trademark Senate session glare.

“My birthday’s in two days...” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“Of course, honey, of course! The longer the celebrations, the merrier! We’ll do it the Naboo way!”

“But I’ll never be around this week, I’m needed at the Senate! Plus, there’s so much to do around the house, even Dormé can’t keep up with all the commissions...”

Jobal cut her short: “Honey, that’s exactly why we’re here! To relieve you of the stress of managing everything!”

She drew an arch with her arm, twirling and gesturing at the whole house.

She then slipped out of her elaborate greatcoat and walked decidedly toward the closet...where Anakin was hiding.

 

“No, not there! I mean...mum, I can put it somewhere, just hand it to me”

“Padmé, quit sulking and let us take care of everything...” Sola chimed in piercing her sister with a pointed look. As usual, bluntness was to be expected on her part. She took the greatcoat from Jobal’s arm and resumed walking towards the _closet._

 _“_ No!” Padmé almost shrieked, rushing to block her sister’s way.

However, she regretted it almost immediately, for Sola raised a suspicious eyebrow at her.

Padmé was uncomfortably reminded of why she never liked disagreeing with her sister when they were kids. Sola was stronger, older and always wanted to get her way. It suddenly hit her that had it not been for her, she would’ve never developed the fast tongue and diplomatic skills necessary to succeed in politics.

Taking a step back, she modulated her voice so that it’d sound calmer: “I mean...let me put it somewhere more... _near-at-hand_ ”

She didn’t need the Force to know that Anakin was sweating cold sweats inside his hideout. How idiot of him to get in there, of all places!

 

Jobal and Sola exchanged a look. The former was incredulous, slightly concerned for Padmé’s “strained nerves”; while the latter shrugged, smelling deception out.

Sola walked in the living room, taking sight of several objects laying just about everywhere: data pads, a comm-link, a half-eaten Jogan fruit...and a pair of boots a handful of sizes _too big_ for Padmé.

With the eyes of a predator, Sola turned to face her sister, who, she noticed now, was wrapped ridiculously tightly in that silken housecoat.

“Are you alone?”

“Why do you ask? Oh...all I wanted to say is, you’re sweet to ask!” despite displaying a forced smile, Padmé was clearly clutching at the straws.

“Really?”

Had she not spent the bulk of her formative years with her sister, Sola would’ve missed the small quiver that crossed Padmé’s bottom lip, a telltale sign that she was hiding something. She smirked. Padmé could be an outstanding politician all she wanted, winning arguments and causes, but Sola had patience, and, in this case, extensive knowledge. She liked her meat slow-cooked.

Padmé’s only answer was to twist her fingers nervously. She noticed Jobal dragging a couple of heavy suitcases into the living room.

“Mum, let me help you” she exclaimed, glad for the diversion.

 

In the meantime, Ruwee, Ryoo and Pooja were already making themselves at home.

Ruwee was tired, and, as usual, inattentive to small details. He sat on the couch, right on Anakin’s comm-link, encouraging his granddaughters to imitate him.

The girls, who, on their hand, were the opposite of sleepy, didn’t miss a chance to bounce on that long sofa. They were so excited to be on Coruscant, at auntie Padmé’s.

 

At one point, the youngest hit something hard with her bum.

“Wooo, what is it?” Pooja squeaked, taking hold of Anakin’s lightsaber, which lied abandoned there. Attracted by the novelty, Ryoo was immediately at her sister’s side.

At the same time, inside the closet, Anakin’s intestines churned. He pulled his hair with both hands, cursing himself for being so foolish. Leaving his lightsaber unattended, what sort of Jedi was he?

For the first time in his life, Anakin Skywalker gave the Council credit for not having promoted him Master yet. He wasn’t supposed to bust his hiding place, but images of raging kyber blades leaving blazing holes in little girls’ bodies kept forming in his head. Obi-Wan’s voice pounded in his ears like a mantra “ _Anakin, this weapon is your life_ ”. His life. Yes. His life would be over if one of the little devils did as little as push the activation bu-...oh Force.

As if on queue, Pooja wasted no time and began fidgeting with the small buttons, right as Ryoo put her face right above the blade emitter...

Anakin’s vision blackened. Without any second thought, he bolted out of the closet, Force-slipping his lightsaber out of Pooja’s grip. Phew. Just in time. He smiled stupidly at the weapon in his hand.

“The Jedi!”

Anakin raised his head to find every single occupant of the room staring at him.

An awkward silence fell in the room.

 

All Padmé wanted was to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself there when she caught sight of her mother and sister’s expressions at seeing Anakin. Talk about jumping to conclusions.

On his hand, her husband looked as flustered as she did.

“Anakin!! What a _pleasant_ surprise to find you here!”

The Jedi blushed, uncharacteristically at loss for words.

Jobal trotted closer to him, extending a hand to greet him.

“How long can we count on the _joy_ of your company?”

 

“Master Skywalker is here to… run a security check and to update C-3PO’s software! He was on his way out when you rang at the door!” Padmé trilled a bit too emphatically.

Not that anyone had asked for an explanation in the first place. Her attitude only fueled more interest on Sola and Jobal’s behalf.

Seeking a temporary escape route, Padmé was glad to see Dormé hurriedly attempting to disappear in her quarters, and didn’t hesitate yelling “Dormé! Come help me with the luggage!”

The maid raised her head dispiritedly, wishing nothing more than to disappear in her chamber, where she would be immune to the Naberrie women’s questioning and Padmé’s nerves. She wasn’t great at lying, and the Senator’s closet was rife with skeletons, or, in this case, Anakins.

 

Sola was gloating, just like a cat who had cornered a fat mouse.

Only Ruwee seemed to be genuinely confused as per the Jedi’s sudden appearance. He probably wasn’t thinking much of it, to Padmé’s relief.

The girls had definitely picked something juicy was going on, for they were bouncier than ever. As their mother Sola directed a puckish comment at Padmé, who was on the defensive more than ever, they wasted no time testing Anakin’s waters in their own way.

 

“Do you remember our names?” Ryoo asked expectantly.

Anakin scratched his head, searching for Padmé’s gaze “Ehrm... _sure_! You’re...Roo and Poo!” the girls giggled, just as Padmé incinerated him with her eyes.

“Can we see your sword? _Pu-leeaase?_ ” they gave him puppy dog eyes, so Anakin, whose position on the legitimacy of showing non-Force-sensitive children Jedi trinkets and stuff lay on dubious grounds, felt compelled to oblige. He was still dazed from his shock-revelation, and the last thing he wanted was to upset any one of the Naberries, in any way.

“All right, but beware: it’s really dangerous. You should never touch one”

He actived his lightsaber just long enough for the girls to get a glimpse of the blue, humming blade, but that left them impressed nonetheless.

“Why you picked blue? You should’ve chosen orange. Orange is my fave!” Pooja squealed.

“I didn’t choose it, it chose me...”

“Blues blues, that’s of your soul the hues” Ryoo sang. Feeling mocked, Anakin lowered his head.

 

As minutes passed, it became clear that the girls had developed a soft spot for Anakin and his countless exciting gadgets, from R2 to his Jedi comm-link. Or, perhaps, it was his willingness to indulge in each and every desire of theirs. They positively had him wrapped around their little fingers, and were taking serious advantage of it. After all, it wasn’t every day that they could boast strapping Jedi knights tending to their every whim. It didn’t hurt that Anakin had no difficulty when it came to communicating with his childish side, as his Master usually remarked.

 

“He’s a natural with children!” Jobal chirped enthusiastically, catching sight of Pooja mounting on Anakin’s back and Ryoo using her hairband as a whip, to “tame” him.

“It must be from all the créche duty shifts at the Temple” Padmé mumbled, avoiding her mother’s eyes.

Jobal sighed, choosing to ignore her daughter “Oh, yes. Nowadays, with long working hours, it’s such a virtue for a man to possess _fine fatherly qualities_...”

Padmé’s eyes became two slits, meeting Jobal’s.

“...lucky who gets him” Jobal finished her sentence enigmatically, gesturing at the Jedi.

 

Somehow, with terrific effort, Padmé succeeded in the gargantuan task of moving all her relatives’ possessions inside two different guestrooms, while at the same time carrying out a campaign to convince everybody that Anakin’s presence there was merely professional. A curious coincidence, that was all. As Sola’s questioning began to wane, Padmé could heave a sigh of relief.

There would be no more faux-steps, mark the Senator’s words.

 

“You’ve lost a _leaf_ , auntie Padmé” Ryoo chanted adorably.

Padmé stopped cold in her tracks. With the corner of her eye, she saw Anakin raise his head.

Sola turned at her daughter’s direction, eyes flashing with excitement.

“A leaf?”

Ryoo bent to pick the ample fig leaf up, a motion which made Padmé cringe. If only she knew...

“Yes, a leaf”

Padmé widened her eyes “Sweetie, thank you!! It must’ve fallen from...the ceiling, it’s a new decoration, _still life_ is all the trend here in Coruscant!”

 

Ryoo looked unconvinced “Do you want it back, auntie?”

Padmé almost gagged on her own saliva. Anakin suffocated a moan.

Sola, though, was strangely cooperative “Sweetie, it’s no big deal. Just hand it to Master Skywalker, I’m sure _he loves fig_ ”. That was it. Sola had struck her blow.

A malicious smirk formed on her face, just as Padmé and Anakin’s cheeks turned beet red. It was so, so embarrassing.

 Anakin wanted to escape, but had nowhere to hide. He had to stay, if anything not to upset Padmé. His Jedi abilities were useless in that situation.

Padmé couldn’t believe her bad luck, if such a thing existed. She seriously didn’t think things could get any worse, until Ruwee stood up, announcing that he would go brew himself a coffee. What a strange request, at that late hour. Still shaking from the fig leaf mishap, Padmé hysterically and somewhat irrationally ran towards Ruwee “Dad, don’t worry, I’ll make coff-...!”

In her haste, Padmé stumbled upon the loose end of her ribbon, causing her housecoat to spread open. Her entire sexy galore being revealed, the house plunged in an abysmal silence for the second time that night. Even Ruwee was gaping at his daughter, utterly incredulous that his little girl had...well, grown up.

Padmé didn’t even try to cover herself.

“No coffee. This night calls for something stronger, instead!” she exclaimed, shrilly.

 

 

_Two hours later..._

A vase of roses sat on the coffee table in front of them.

Padmé’s hair had frizzed considerably, mirroring her frazzled state of mind.

A couple of bottles of rough Jawa juice and many awkward conversations later, the older Naberries had all crumpled on the couch, knocked out for the night. Finally - Padmé thought - the _wrestling match_ is over.

 

Although it being way past the little rascals’ bedtime, the girls showed no sign of being sleepy whatsoever. They had spent a great night: they were on Coruscant, they had a handsome Jedi at their service and they had even discovered that river stones could be worn instead of regular fabrics, although they made for very skimpy clothes.

 

Padmé stood up like a zombie, meeting her husband’s gaze.

Anakin spoke tiredly “Padmé, I...”

“Don’t. Say. A. Word. Not. Now.”

Anakin sighed, massaging the small of his back.

“Girls, let’s go put your pajamas on” Padmé exhorted.

 

“No, not yet!” Ryoo protested.

“Girls, all little ladies need their beauty sleep!”

“Story time, story time!” they began imploring in unison.

Padmé figured she could sneak to the refresher to put a _decent_ nightgown on herself, while the girls got their story.

She glanced at her husband, whose cheeks were still burning from the night’s events.

“All right, _Anakin_ , why don’t you pick a story and you read it to them?

She grabbed her old fairytale book from Naboo, which Anakin loved, in real paper and hand-illustrated, a real gem.

 

He sat on the couch with more eagerness than Ryoo and Pooja themselves.

“Beauty and the Beast?” Anakin suggested, hoping that the boisterous girls would select his favorite tale.

“Nooo!”

“Why not?”

“The beast is so _scaw-rey_!”

“But it’s not really evil, it’s big and it appears unfriendly, but inside, under all that...fur, there’s still goodness in him” Anakin nodded in a quest to appear convincing. For some reason, he always felt sad when people hated on the Beast.

Pooja pouted.

“All right, all right! Then, what about...”

“Queen of Naboo and the Seven Gungans?” Ryoo proposed.

Anakin squeezed his eyes for a moment, the words having solicited a weird mental image in him, with seven Jar Jars dancing around in his head.

“There’s no such a story in here, what about Sleeping Beauty instead?”

The girls squealed in anticipation.

“Great, it’s a deal, then” Anakin said, pleased with himself.

“Read, read, read!”

“Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there was a coy, gracious princess. The princess, though, didn’t know of her royal blood, because she was given to three magic fairies to raise within six months of her life, to escape an evil witch’s curse”

Pooja’s eyes grew wider “an evil witch?”

“Fear not, Poo, you’ve got a Jedi knight by your side” Anakin boasted proudly, earning a smile of adoration from the girls.

Anakin continued with the story “...alas, while under the curse, the entire kingdom became a dark place full of thorns and despair. It seemed like all hope was lost...”

The story was longer than expected.

“...the only one brave enough to defy the odds and combat all evils, reached the tower where the princess laid. He fought against the evil witch, whose powers had grown enough to turn her into a dragon. He had faith. It was hard, but the prince won, and ran to the princess’ side”

“And then?” the girls asked expectantly.

“...and then she is _awakened_ by the kiss of _true love_!”

Anakin got all giddy.

“The kiss of true love?” Pooja asked

“Exactly. Only the kiss of true love can wake her up!”

 

DRIIIING

 

No. Anakin couldn’t believe it.

The flux of incoming guests would not see an end, after all. That was a record for the 500 Republica residence, which, aside from official diplomatic visits, wasn’t accustomed to receiving all these visitors, let alone at such an unorthodox time.

Anakin checked his chrono. It was close to midnight. Didn’t people have some manners?

 

He heard C-3PO stumble on the raised hem of the corridor’s carpet in an ill-fated attempt to reach the door. “That droid is far too clumsy” Anakin thought, making a mental note to ameliorate him, later.

 

From the refresher, an exasperated Padmé called: “Master Skywalker! Would you please care to check who’s there??”

 

Anakin begrudgingly stood up and advanced toward the door.

 

DRIIING DRIIIIIING

 

The doorbell kept ringing with insistence.

“I’m coming, I’m coming...”

Without giving it much thought, Anakin opened the door.

 

Who he saw standing on the opposite side of it left him gaping in shock.

 

The last thing he was expecting was to find that _one_ person.

 

Anakin took a few shallow breaths, staring at the individual before him.

 

“ _You_...what are you doing here?” he panted.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Roo and Poo. Honestly, what did Sola have in mind?**
> 
> So...who do you think Anakin found standing on the other side of the door?


	9. Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The impromptu guest's identity is revealed, so are his intentions. How will Anakin react?

Over. It was all over. His Jedi career. His marriage. Perhaps both. How foolish of him to think he could continue with this double life and not have his Master find out. Double life, double-edged sword. Now _he_  would scold him, report him, disown him, shame him. Padmé’s parents first and now this...Anakin’s blood was boiling, he was risking to lose it altogether.

“Master, I can expl-...” Anakin's normally unchanging cheeks were gradually tinging with pink, just as his prideful, somewhat austere soul was tinging with an unpleasant mix of shame and insecurity.

He waited for the blade to strike. And waited. And waited.

But the strike never did arrive.

“Anakin, I need your ship”

Anakin, at first, was too absorbed in his ocean of self-chastisement to register his Master's words.

“She needed my help...wait. What?!”

Obi-Wan wasn’t attempting to frame him for being at Padmé’s? If Anakin was worried before, now he was freaking out. Had the world turned upside down? And why was Obi-Wan wearing those ridiculous Rako Hardeen clothes? Ignoring a twinge of annoyance at seeing those reminders of a dark period of betrayal (anything Hardeen-related was particularly hard to tolerate for him), Anakin found himself seriously questioning his Master’s mental health. And his own, too. Nothing of what was happening made sense...not anymore!

“ _Please_ ”

 

What in the Force?! Obi-Wan had knocked at 500 Republica's door  _knowing_ he would specifically find him there just to ask - no, plead - to borrow the Twilight?

Obi-Wan had always criticized Anakin for insisting on keeping that old heap of metal, affirming that the Jedi hangar fleet would be more than enough to cater to his transportation needs, so what could have possibly made him change his mind on the utility of personal possessions at such a late hour?

Anakin seriously thought he was going mad, the skin of his cheeks still flared up from the initial inner turmoil-generating scare, until he met Obi-Wan’s eyes, giving a start, nearly frightened. Two pools of infinite sadness, two vortexes of worry, determination and other mixed feelings...his emotions intense, taking over Obi-Wan's whole Force signature. So atypical. He was still evasive and attempting his best to appear nonchalant, a trick he often used to avoid questions, but Anakin wasn’t fooled. Not with his intuitive, Force-attuned nature, not with his having shared every last bit of sweat, blood and laughter with the man who was standing in front of him.

He recalled their argument earlier that evening, something that had upset him more than he let on, as it was always the case when he and Obi-Wan disagreed on something (especially life-philosophy-related) and, suddenly, he _understood_.

Obi-Wan was disobeying the Council. He had gone to him for help, because he trusted him, because he knew he wouldn’t be betrayed.

If Obi-Wan was expressing defiance, whatever he was breaking the rules for was something he deeply cared about. He could almost touch the passion and pain coursing through his veins.

Anakin’s eyes lightened up.

"All right Master. I..."

 

In that very moment, fresh out of the refresher, Padmé walked in on the scene. Although an experienced politician who was more than used to keeping her emotions in check, the young woman's facial expressions betrayed her feelings of fear and near-paralysis.There is an element of hurt which permeates the reaction of those who are caught red-handed, and Padmé's was no different. Icarus' wings always melt at a cost.

“Anakin who is...O-Obi-Wan?! What brings you here?!”

While she nonetheless tried her best to appear in control, Pooja's bouncy frame peeked out from behind the door.

“Another Jedi! Yippee!” the little girl shrieked enthusiastically, closely followed by her sister.

The girls’ excitement woke Sola up, who sluggishly asked from the sofa: “Another Jedi? Is he hot?”

Padmé stiffened, making a mental note not to lash out at her sister later on.

“Obi-Wan, Anakin was so kind to rush here to our help after the... _thieves_ broke in!”

What a lame excuse. But she couldn’t help her anxiety, Obi-Wan being a potential ticking time bomb.

Had she been a bit less focused on her own, frantic thoughts, Padmé would have noticed that the Jedi Master had barely acknowledged her, his expression lost and tormented.

Padmé thought she could pass out any moment. She worriedly exchanged a look with Anakin, who, much to her surprise, appeared calm. He rummaged in his pocket, extracting something shiny and handing it to Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan, here’s the access key. Just preceed me to the hangar, I'll reach you in a minute” she heard Anakin say.

 

Padmé blinked. Had she missed out on something?

 

“Thank you, my old friend. You have no idea what this means” Obi-Wan exuded gratitude, and nothing else. His eyes obstinately fixed on the ground, the older Jedi disappeared into the dark corridor. Anakin waited until he could no longer hear his Master’s hurried footsteps down the stairs, then he turned towards his wife, his eyes perfectly conveying his feelings of concern and exaltedness.

 

“Now, this calls for an explanation” Padmé struggled enunciating, still incredulous and out-of-breath.

Anakin half-smiled.

“What to say? He wants to do something without the Council’s authorization and I backed him” Anakin stated more proudly than was legitimate admitting.

Anything that had “Obi-Wan” and “rebellious” in the same sentence deserved his undivided attention. Force, he thought he’d never live to see this day come.

“Is this Obi-Wan we’re talking about?” Padmé could hardly believe it.

Anakin snorted.

“Well, you saw him. Why else would he come here and _not_ threaten to ostracize us from the Core Worlds and beyond? I sense he feels deeply about what he’s breaking the rules for” Anakin said, his voice now deep. He could relate to that situation, he sure could.

“Unbelievable...”

“You mean, tonight? If the Chancellor himself rings now, I wouldn’t be surprised” Anakin chuckled.

Padmé became quiet.

“Obi-Wan must be off to save what keeps his heart alive. I don’t have any other explanation for this...” she quickly made a mental association, but chose to keep it to herself for the time being.

“I agree”

“Anakin...do you think he, well, knows about us?”

Anakin did not reply.

“Maybe you should tell him, Ani? He trusted you with this...”

For the first time ever, Anakin didn’t outright reject the idea. He would test his Master’s waters further, trying to determine whether he’d understand or _not_. The Clone Wars had changed them both.

But for now, all Anakin could hope was that whatever Obi-Wan was up to would yield the desired result. He didn’t want to face it, but for some reason he couldn’t shrug the foreshadowing of an unfortunate outcome off. He sincerely hoped that would not be the case. Obi-Wan had not disclosed any details - _as of yet_.

Anakin, on his hand, itched to help him, to know more, and his impossibility at doing so frustrated him. To divert his attention from this sore spot, he turned to Padmé.

“So...after I'm back from shipping Obi-Wan off, where am I sleeping tonight, Angel?”

“In your bed at the Temple, of course”

“What? Are you kicking me out?” Anakin grimaced, taking both her hands and leaning on her to kiss her.

“Ssh! Don’t be so loud! Of course you are, this show we’ve put on has lasted even too long! You’re a great Jedi, love, but not as great of an actor. Besides, Ryoo and Pooja are already in my bed”

Anakin snorted. It looked like he really had no choice left but to sling his hook.


	10. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pent up in one of Jabba's prison cells, Obi-Wan has to face the tormented Inquisitor - and gets tortured himself. Will he be broken, or has life rendered him immune to petty tribulation methods?
> 
> Meanwhile, Pryce has a dream.

_Jabba’s Palace, Tatooine, 15 BBY_

 

Every bit the horror abode Obi-Wan remembered from his visit during the Clone Wars following young Rotta’s kidnapping, the Palace was graciously made available to the use of the Imperials. Hence the Hutts, apparently, now fell under the category of retinue the Empire prided itself to foster relationships with.

Jabba the Hutt’s Palace. That was the turbid case where the broken shell of the exiled Jedi’s body was stored; that was the inescapable cage where his mind was trapped.

On the way to his cell, fully escorted, Obi-Wan had attempted creating a visual map of the place he was detained in. He was quick to reach the conclusion that escaping wouldn’t come easy, if a chance ever arose: his cell was at the very top of a sort of tower, reachable by crossing a suspended bridge and circling a rocky plateau overlooking a large crevasse, which gave way to a vertiginous spiral staircase leading straight to the prisoner’s cells. It was noteworthy how Jabba had built his abode taking advantage of the natural topography of the surrounding dunes - making it even more nightmarish than imaginable.

Inside a filthy prison cell made of large blocks of brown stone, Obi-Wan had been stripped of his cloak, left with his thin white shirt, chained, and made bow down.

He was not fazed: he had already bowed to his destiny, on Mustafar.

He did not feel exposed: he had long bared his soul to the bone before himself.

Two heavy rings of rusty iron indented the flesh of his wrists, while his defenseless position made him look ten years older. As miserable as this may sound, the prisoner could at least count on solitude not to grip his heart for too long: Gamorrean guards – courtesy of Jabba – regularly visited him, warming him up for torture, pouring their frustrations out on him.

“How hospitable” Obi-Wan thought as a whip left raging red marks on his back.

It didn’t break him though: Kadavo had already snapped all that there was left to snap, Maul and Vader had already wiped all that there was left to wipe. Pain was a barrier he had long trespassed, and no longer feared, in a sense.

Invigorated by this newfound balance he never believed himself capable of attaining after the years spent in solitude, he concentrated all his energies on hanging on for the sake of his last mission – and beacon of hope: Luke’s survival.

And there, he suddenly understood.

Solitude had made him stronger, allowing him to grow, teaching him his place in the universe. When one’s ego is all one has left to rely upon, the unexpected effect of growing more aware of the realities of life is achieved. Hermitage had been a breeding ground for everlasting selflessness – Obi-Wan reflected – and sheer self-reliance. Never in his life, had Kenobi been poorest. Never in his life, had he been more _resourceful_.

It was a good thing that so vigorous was the Jedi’s state of mind, for someone else (with much less control over his own emotions and with much more potential agency at the moment) was headed his way. The result was that Obi-Wan barely had time to collect himself after the Gamorrean incursion that the Inquisitor stepped – or better, _burst_ –  inside, advancing with long, decided strides; his eyes bloodshot, his heart quivering, as encased as it was in a Force presence that left little room for inner strength. Obi-Wan looked up and was startled by so much pain. The exact brand of untreated pain that ends up yearning to inflict more pain. One that was _painfully familiar_. Therefore, knowing that hoping to be spared would be of little use, the Jedi hermit awaited his punishment.

He needn’t wait long: a heavy hand struck him in the head, the blow resonating in his skull.

“Who are you?” the Inquisitor seethed through gritted teeth. Even with minimal use of the Force the Jedi could perceive his blood boiling beneath strained veins.

Obi-Wan was vaguely surprised, he wasn’t expecting such a degree of uncouthness, and so quickly self-disclosing at that. It was a paladin of Sidious’ Empire he was facing, after all. A merciless start asked for a bold move, in turn. Obi-Wan’s inner balance gave him confidence to test his jailor with a hint of cheekiness, never mind the precariousness attached to his convict status.

“Why don’t you begin by introducing yourself?” Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate, his voice candid.

The Inquisitor seemingly ignored the question, his flaring nostrils and thinning pupils betraying the real extent of his fury.

“I will _know_ who you are, I will!”

His greyish, obsidian-clad figure advanced forward, closing the gap between prisoner and captor. Obi-Wan was having difficulty hiding his surprise as he was handed a set of unexpected items: a manual razor and a small mirror.

“Shave” the Inquisitor ordered unapologetically.

Obi-Wan understood: the Inquisitor sought to rid him of facial hair, so as to compare him with Most Wanted list fugitives more easily. He sure didn’t share Judge Pryce’s insistent point of view. The Jedi's reflective state caused him to linger a moment too long. For the shortest time, as a blood red blade hummed alive, Obi-Wan feared for his life. The young Inquisitor had become manic in what had revealed itself to be a crisis-triggering setting.

“Shave!” he slashed his cheek with the saber, leaving a burn mark. Hair would never grow again, there, his skin as infertile as Tatooine's dunes. Obi-Wan saw himself forced to oblige. He could feel the heat of the red blade getting closer and closer to his body, to his skin…he knew the mentally unstable Inquisitor was tempted to bring – how little it would take to do it – his life to an end. The burning sensation caused the Jedi Master to hurt from a much-deeper pain, one caused by the mental association of ravaged, scarred epithelium with the last of the images he held of Anakin Skywalker.

All that grossly planned out, grisly vehemence and efforts at achieving the most refined and perfect of tortures didn’t faze him: as Obi-Wan (and the Jedi as a whole) had discovered at his own expense, the worst brand of evil was precisely the banal, everyday kind, a sort of viciousness the grieved Inquisitor obviously lacked, at the moment.

Then, without premonition, the Inquisitor deactivated his saber, staring into Obi-Wan’s deep orbs.

“You look remarkably like them…your eyes could be _their_ eyes”

“Like who?”

“Like the VERMIN!” the Inquisitor shouted, as imbalanced as ever.

Obi-Wan paused, beginning to understand that such oubursts were unavoidable, with the Muun-Mirialan.

“I was once on a journey to become a Jedi. But those _dogs_ didn’t deem myself fit enough to make it. I ended up as an agricultural laborer for the Jedi Corps. The Jedi stripped me from my family for what? To send me cultivating anonymously? I always resented them for the prison they put me in. The vanquishing of the Order made it possible for me to break free, to get a second chance. This has served me well in the eyes of my _new Master_ ” throughout his entire rant, the Inquisitor never stopped staring fanatically into Obi-Wan’s eyes. The latter chose to dare once more.

“Your new Master? Why, are you under someone else’s rule, now? I thought, from your Jedi discourse, that you’d rather strive for independence…AAARGH!”

Ben’s brazen attitude cost him dearly, as the Inquisitor hurled abuse and damage at him with a rage, inaugurating what would turn out to be a nightmarish night.

Obi-Wan’s resolve not to give in to pain and sufferance wavered. Perhaps, one day he would achieve complete serenity in the face of adversity. That day was not today.

 

 

_Meantime, in one of Jabba’s guest apartments…_

 

_The young woman watched mesmerized the clear starry sky, flat on her back. Her vermilion dress was sprawled on the rocky beach floor so that she looked like a lonely, stubborn flower on an endless expanse of grey shapes._

_On a closer inspection, though, one could make out a second form lying next to her._

_This other person almost completely blended with the rocks - thanks to his greyish-white robes and fetal position - if it weren’t for the light his eyes emanated - a lively naked blue flame - telling him apart._

_One hand of his was lacing fingers with the girl’s above her head, one arm was wrapped around her waist._

_Brushing his nose against her cheek, he spoke: “What is expected of you…is unthinkable”._

_The girl didn’t reply. She kept looking upwards, gathering strength from the gazillion of celestial bodies shining upon them._

_“I…” she was about to say something, but her words died in her throat._

_“I don’t know how I’ll manage without you” the young man admitted, interrupting her. “You, on the other hand, will forget about me.”_

_The girl broke out of her solemn state, widening her eyes and turning her head to face him “What are you talking about? I will never forget you.”_

_The boy shifted his face closer to hers, his eyes glistening with expectation._

_“Never?” he whispered, holding her tighter._

_“Never never”_

 

Savagely sucking in air as if trying to escape a mortal tide, Arihnda Pryce jerked awake, panting and soaked in her own sweat. Her pendant felt warm against her skin, its stone nearly pulsating as she instinctively grabbed it, as if on a quest to draw energy from it. Tears mixed with sweat beads rolling from her forehead all the way down to her nose and chin, so that it was unclear how much of the total amount of spilled water accounted derived from emotional sorrows as opposed to physical ones.

It took a few moments for her heaving chest to get back to a normal breathing rhythm, for her darting eyes to regain focus and for consciousness – and a blinding abdominal pain – to bite back at her.

The grim awakening scenario not at all unfamiliar, Pryce allowed herself to let the last remnants of her realistic dream – snippets of a life past – to comfort her, before higher consciousness took over the reins of her controlled behavior, paving the way for embarrassment to become the prevailing feeling.

_“Never never”_

Her comm-link beeped, providing a much-needed distraction from the pit of demons that her mind was on the verge of becoming. It was Thrawn. As usual, the Chiss demanded instant attention, delay an unacceptable option, even from a distance. Pryce proceeded to slide out of bed and answer her ambitious colleague, the last of her dream’s bits still flashing before her eyes – despite angered efforts to suffocate them.


	11. Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Lawless: Obi-Wan's reaction. Anakin's reflection.

_Jedi Temple, Coruscant, 20 BBY_

 

 

On the Jedi Temple landing docks, Anakin Skywalker was pacing nervously. He had comm-linked Obi-Wan multiple times, though he had received no answer.

How atypical.

As was, after all, his behavior during the last couple of days, which had prompted Anakin to rush to the landing platform as soon as a signal of an incoming ship was received by the control tower.

They were expecting no re-entries that day, so the only one it could be was Obi-Wan, rogue Jedi of the day. Anakin smirked nervously. He didn’t quite know how to feel about this story. Worried, because his old Master had seemingly gone bonkers? Elated, because he had finally acted as his accomplice on a more confidential level, both by asking to borrow the _Twilight_ and by not forcing him to justify his presence at Padmé’s?

Anakin saw the outline of a ship approaching. A ship that clearly wasn’t his aircraft.

“In the name of poodoo! Obi-Wan really owes me a _good_ explanation this time” irked, he crossed his arms on his chest.

 

The ship landed drunkenly, quite mercilessly, making Anakin squint his eyes disapprovingly and somewhat curiously. What the hell was going on?

As soon as the hold door opened to reveal an auburn-haired, black-and-red-armor-clad man, Anakin jumped at his Master’s throat.

“Obi-Wan! Why didn’t you answer for Force’s sake?! What happened to _my_ ship?!”

If Anakin hadn’t been so eager to get at his old Master, he would’ve wondered why Obi-Wan hadn’t gingerly snapped back at him with one of his usual witty remarks, or why his stare was so devoid of life. However, these details, for a few seconds of confused enthusiasm, were lost on him.

 

He playfully punched Obi-Wan’s shoulder, who, strangely, didn’t oppose any resistance.

“This is what happens when an old man like you tries to play the young charming debon...”

Anakin stopped cold in his tracks the moment he looked into the older Jedi’s eyes. He was notified for the first time of the terrible state he was in, and that hit him like a bucket of cold water. It was nearly...frightening.

Something was really wrong. The absent, shallow-cheeked man he was facing was ten years older than his Master, so different from the person he had bid farewell to a mere day earlier.

 

Obi-Wan, on his hand, simply floated toward the Temple’s entrance, avoiding his old Padawan’s gaze at all costs.

For a few, brief moments, Anakin seriously hoped that sheer-tiredness was to blame for the state he was in, but he soon felt stupid for trying to sell himself such a story. Something didn’t add up. Was Obi-Wan wounded? Most likely not. Still, he had never seen him like that. His Force-presence wasn’t of much help, as a faltering, indefinite, strongly-warded string.

 

Anakin followed him suit.

“Obi-Wan?” he tried.

The armored Jedi stopped momentarily, sighing. Anakin could have sworn he was about to say something, but no sound came out of his mouth. Instead, he resumed his slow, steady, eerily silent march, until he reached the doors of the Council Chamber.

Stiff as a stockfish, Obi-Wan turned to Anakin for the first time, the corners of his lips quivering ever so slightly as he spoke:

“Anakin...please...the Council. Can...summon...” as if trying to give a motive for his weakness, he released a slash of pain in the Force, fleeting enough to be elusive, but uncensored enough to let on on the blinding dolor - Anakin realized with horror - that he was keeping well tucked inside.

Skywalker was momentarily taken aback.

He wanted to question him, to inquire further, to find out more, but he knew his Master too well not to comply with his wishes.

Obi-Wan was clearly on the brink of self-destruction, holding on just long enough to relate his whereabouts to the Council. It was his task, he would stubbornly carry it through.

 

Moments later, Yoda, Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi - the few Council members who were present at the Temple - shut themselves inside the chamber with Obi-Wan, who never in his years as a Master had looked less assertive. He walked in with the resigned air of a scapegoat.

Anakin - unsurprisingly - wasn’t allowed in. He huffed, pressing his ear against the door attempting to overhear the conversation in much of a youngling fashion.

He quit trying to spy on the session when he caught sight of Windu’s angry look through the keyhole, an unmistakable sign that he’d been uncovered.

Staring at the austere doors, he could only wait as curiosity ravaged him. He itched to know more details, though the more he thought about it, the more the answer seemed _obvious_ to him. Who was he fooling around?

Although oblivious to the exact dynamics, Anakin had grimly concluded that every clue - Obi-Wan’s escapade, the Mandalorian armor, his distraught appearance - were likely to lead to a single terrible scenario.

Anakin clenched his jaw, his mind instinctively wandering to thoughts of Padmé, as a reflex. He felt anguish mounting somewhere in his bowels. She was in politics, and had many enemies, too. He couldn’t fathom losing her. When he noticed how hard he’d been balling his fists it was too late: his nails had dug bloody marks in his flesh.

 

Suddenly, the Council doors sprang open, revealing a blank-faced, glassy-eyed Obi-Wan who drifted outside, barely acknowledging anyone.

Anakin watched him quicken his pace, then downright run until he turned a corner, dashing out of sight. His Force presence, though, was growing progressively neat, making Anakin acutely aware of just how much pain he was in. It was surreal, but undeniable, just like ripping a live animal apart to find its living flesh inside, writhing in pain.

The young one winced, the turmoil in his soul catching Master Yoda’s attention.

“In a great deal of pain, Master Kenobi is” he said holding onto his knotty cane.

“It was reckless of Kenobi to take initiative, though now that we know that Maul is sieging Mandalore, we must act quickly” Ki-Adi-Mundi observed.

“It’s decided, then. Master Koon and I will assemble a platoon right away” Mace Windu announced briskly while walking away, not before having exchanged a poisonous glare with the ever-defiant-Anakin.

 

Anakin wasn’t willing to retreat yet.

“Maul? On Mandalore?” he tentatively asked Yoda.

“Divided factions by spearheading Death Watch, Maul has. Clouded, our vision is. Take action, we must. The neutral position of Mandalore, likely to lose additional ground is: pacifist leader gone is” he sounded deep in thought.

Anakin, however, needn’t hear any further. His worst fears confirmed, he rushed to Obi-Wan’s quarters as fast as he could. Upon reaching the door, he was not surprised to find it locked, so he banged on it vigorously, earning looks of disapproval from passing-by Jedi. He couldn’t care any less.

“Obi-Wan!” he thundered “Let me in!”

 

\---

 

Obi-Wan had tried hard. He had tried his best to control himself, to tamper his emotions, to drown his feelings in his teachings and deny the magnitude of what had just happened.

“There is no death. There is the Force” he had repeated over and over again during his journey to Coruscant, though this mantra, at the end of the day, had not been enough to erase the pain from his soul.

By suppressing part of his self-awareness, he was able to maintain composure throughout all the trip and even in front of the Council, as he confessed his misdeeds. Though, it wasn’t their judgment of his conduct he was concerned about, this once. It wasn’t the Mandalorian armor, the bane of his probity. It was the fear of baring himself in front of them.

Reliving _those moments_ again had proved to be close to torture.

He had felt like he would crack any moment, under all that pressure.

_“What happened in the throne room, Kenobi?”_

_“Maul was surrounded by Death Watch members, occupying his position on the throne. I was immobilized, and he tortured the Duchess”_

_His own voice sounded so foreign that it startled him._

_He was sweating, cold beads of sweat collecting on his forehead, on his fingers, making them slippery, like the rope of excuses he was trying to climb on._

_“Then what happened?” he heard Windu’s deep voice ask._

“I let her **die** ” _a voice from the depths of his heart echoed in his head, nailing him on the spot, paralyzing his tongue. He flinched._

_“Well?” Windu prodded._

_“Then Maul...he...he...” his brain had blocked him access to the truth._

_“He what? What did he do?”_

_“He... **killed** her” at that point, he was barely audible_

_“What? The Duchess of Mandalore is dead? How did Maul kill her?”_

**_How did Maul kill her_ ** _. Each word of Windu’s echoed in his ears like harmful radiation. Each sentence was like a jab at his bruised heart._

_In spite of this, Obi-Wan knew he couldn’t afford himself any moment of weakness. He grabbed his elbow, gripping on it tightly, hoping that his physical pain would distract him from a far greater one._

_“...darksaber”_

_“With the darksaber Death Watch stole from the Jedi?”_

_“...”_

_“Kenobi?”_

_“ **Yes** ”._

 

When he was finally dismissed, Obi-Wan was a wreck; aware that, if he wanted to survive, he couldn’t hold it any longer.

Although the ground felt unstable under his feet, the quicksands swallowing his heart were of a much greater effect, so he headed out of the Council Chamber, into the corridor. He noticed Anakin, but instead of mumbling something incoherent to him, he opted to walk past him.

When he was far enough from everyone, feeling like he could burst any moment, he started running, not stopping until he reached his own quarters.

 

Once inside, Obi-Wan leaned against the door. He was under the illusion that the walls would collapse on him, but he soon concluded that even if that were the case, he wouldn’t care. If anything, he thought he probably deserved it.

His eyes became watery.

He attempted to control his breathing, but everything from the previous hours was building up as a cluster of impenetrable black clouds in his throat, in his chest, in his stomach, until he lost every last bit of control over it all and his emotions came flooding at him like a swollen river.

When the first tears streaked his dry cheeks, he was sobbing hard in spite of himself. He moved a few steps before he crumpled face-down on the ground, his back shaken by relentless fits.

“I’m not supposed to be in this state. Qui Gon would not...” the mere thought of his Master, dead at the hand of Maul - because of _him -_ instead of helping, only contributed precipitating the situation farther downward.

He pressed his forehead against the hard floor as if wanting to be absorbed by it.

He felt annoyed at the armor, which prevented him from sprawling on the ground any further, something he yearned, a sort of self-burial.

 

He frustratingly ran his palm across his chest plate, tempted to Force-break it apart, but that simple movement brought back the memory of _her_ fingers tracing paths like his own were, on that very plate. No. He didn’t have the strength of getting rid of the last projection of Satine’s last moments of affection towards him.

Now back on his knees, he ran a trembling hand from his chest, to his neck, to the furry cheek where she had last rested her hand. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still sense her faint scent, which, underneath all that dusty layer of prison odor, was still unmistakably hers.

He squeezed his eyes, holding his breath for a moment before sobbing harder and bending in two, splattering back on the floor, the delineation between his physical pain and his emotional one hard to pinpoint, if one ever existed.

 

When he heard insistent banging at his door, he knew he wasn’t ready to put his grief aside. No, it was far too early, he affirmed, while, at the same time, readying himself to put up a semi-credible facade of tranquility: it was Anakin who was plummeting the door with his fists.

A wave of embarrassment crossed him as the young one barged in, but he didn’t know what prevailed: shame at revealing a vulnerable version of himself, or embarrassment at considering righteous to deny the magnitude of his feelings.

Obi-Wan sat frozen, awaiting a comment that would call him back to his duty. He felt like he’d been caught red-handed by the whole Temple, bare, fragile.

The absolute worst, was that he couldn’t do anything to reverse this in front of the only person he felt extremely responsible for: his former apprentice.

The young Jedi walked closer to him, visibly perturbed, worried - even a bit scared.

Here. Obi-Wan awaited to be axed, as he deserved.

“Obi-Wan” he said softly, approaching “I’m _so_ sorry!”

 

That was it. Sincerity, comprehension.

They remained still for long minutes, Obi-Wan inhaling furiously in his quest to regain his lost...what exactly? Wits? Composure? Or a _piece of his heart_?

Anakin slowly knelt down next to his Master, placing his left hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

They stayed like that for what felt like ages, then Anakin stood up to fetch a glass of water.

“Obi-Wan, do you want one too?” he asked tentatively.

The Jedi Master emitted a muffled, pained sound, so, while in doubt, Anakin returned with an extra glass.

“It will do you good” he attempted, more upset and heartbroken than he let on.

 

Truth be told, the younger Jedi found it easy to take this tragedy on a personal level, as it was often characteristic of him. Anakin always felt he was at the center of the galaxy, be it rightfully so (due to his high Midichlorian count) or not. But now, especially...this scraped him more than he had expected.

 

For hours, Obi-Wan barely moved. A delicate but aggressively expanding hue of red was taking over his face, igniting his nose, expanding on to the cheeks, as if he had swallowed a firecracker and was attempting to digest it. The glass of water laid untouched where Anakin had left it.

Anakin was conflicted for the surreal, reversed-from-the-norm situation he and his Master were in. Obi-Wan was the one mourning now, while he was...supposed to lift him off the ground? He had always desired for a day to come when Obi-Wan would be the one to look up to him, but now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever given this position of responsibility the right framing.

Anakin had always, in a sense, competed with his younger-than-the-norm Master. Often, that would foster a healthy development of their personas, but at times it led him to antagonizing and confronting Obi-Wan. Their differences created a gap the two of them weren’t always able to bridge, despite their bond. However, now, Obi-Wan felt more relatable than ever to him.

 

 

“Master” he began with the know-it-all voice he had used on him since he was a little boy wanting to prove his point right “you should...”

“She’s dead because of ME!” Obi-Wan shouted unexpectedly, pulling on his beard. Anakin was unprepared to be at the receiving end of this bout of _anger_ so he dropped his jaw.

“I couldn’t _save_ her” the older Jedi whispered calmly this time, his knuckles white from how hard he was clenching his fists, nonetheless.

He was visibly in pain. His words had hurt Anakin like daggers. Unbeknownst to him, they awoke _something_ in his tormented subconscious. The dying images of his mother Shmi flooded his brain almost without him noticing. He was no stranger to mourning. He was supposed to remain strong for his brother, but found himself on the way to joining the pity-party, instead.

 

All of a sudden, someone knocked.

“Master! Are you in there?? Can you help me with my homework?” a cheerful voice sparked through the door.

“Great” Anakin thought sarcastically “Ahsoka”

With Obi-Wan practically still sitting petrified, he stood up and let her in, witnessing as her expression went from smiling to questioning to downright horrified.

 

“Master Obi-Wan!” she exclaimed, kneeling next to him, not quite believing the Force.

She raised her head at Anakin: “What happened?”

Her Master sighed: “Maul killed the Duchess Satine under his eyes”

Ahsoka tapped her mouth with both hands: “No! She was a good woman!”

She exchanged a long look with her Master as the two of them moved to get a seat.

Long moments passed in silence.

Since Obi-Wan was practically in his own world, the Togruta girl leaned toward Anakin, to whisper something in his ear, batting her lashes.

“I really wasn’t expecting to see him so affected. We always joked around he had a soft spot for her...but it must’ve been _true love_ for real. Don’t you think so, Master? It is Master Obi-Wan we’re talking about, and look at him! He’s in pieces!”

Anakin could tell all of this was having quite the effect on her.

Well, how could he blame her, when he was practically feeling the same way?

 

The last rays of light disappeared, and the surface of Coruscant turned colder, matching their spirits.

When the time came for them to go to bed, Anakin decided he wouldn’t leave his Master’s side for the night. Obi-Wan was still on the floor, cross-legged, his eyes closed, in meditative position. Anakin gently prodded him through the Force, trying to persuade him to change out of the _beskar’gam_ , though to no avail: Obi-Wan seemed to be clinging onto that armor for dear life.

Ahsoka, unwilling to leave herself, opted to sleep in Obi-Wan’s room, quieter than usual. She was confused, saddened, absorbing everything, every sight, every vibration. She didn’t have the full awareness of it, but it would be a decisive episode in shaping her understanding of life as a Jedi.

 

Anakin sat on a bench, observing the shell of weak flesh that his Master was. Eventually, he settled for falling asleep right there. The three Jedi’s togetherness brought a feeble aura of silent coziness along, just like the billions of lights brightening the darkened surface of Coruscant.

Anakin sent a message to Padmé, telling her he wouldn’t be able to sneak out for a brief encounter anymore. Not that he’d be able to be with her for long, anyway, the Naberries had a midnight surprise celebration in store for her birthday. Seeing how precarious life in their circumstances was, Anakin wished nothing more than to be able to be with her, perhaps revealing himself for what he was. He stared into the dark room, his bittersweet feelings enhanced by Obi-Wan’s presence. Closing his lids, he slipped into a restless night of dreams.

 

\---

 

The next day Anakin woke up a little past dawn with a sore neck. Obi-Wan’s bench, not unlike the rest of Jedi standard furniture - was far too stiff.

Ahsoka had already left, but he was most surprised to find Obi-Wan standing in front of the window, soaking in the pale early sunlight, a data-pad in his hand. Anakin noticed the shift in his demeanor: his face now appeared serene and in control, but his shaky Force presence betrayed the tranquil facade he’d put on. That, and the - pretty ridiculous, according to Anakin - fact that he was _still_ wearing that kriffin’ Mandalorian armor.

 

“Good morning, Anakin. I have brewed tea. Your cup is on the table” his steady, normal voice almost scared him. It was all too soon for him to return to his regular self. Was he in denial? What price did he have to pay to put up a semblance of “happy appearance”? The closeness Anakin had felt to his Master the previous evening began to fade.

 

Obi-Wan looked at him apprehensively as he scooted from the bench to the table and took his cup with an all-too-firm grip.

“I thought red wasn’t your color. I’m beginning to think you’re doing it on purpose, to keep that armor on. Are you planning to join a rebel group or what?” Anakin tried to break the ice.

Obi-Wan sighed, his eyes darkening.

“At this point, it wouldn’t be out of place. I’m sorry, Anakin. I’m such a _bad_ Master. Such a bad example. You deserved better, you’re by far a better Jedi than I am”

Anakin almost spit his tea: “Are you serious?! Obi-Wan, you have every reason to be grieving. I can’t even imagine how _I_ would feel if P-...I mean, if I were in your shoes!”

Receiving no answer, Anakin passionately admitted: “There’s not a single other Jedi in this Temple I would’ve wanted as Master. Or who could’ve trained me to knighthood and beyond, for the matter”.

 

These words, which under normal circumstances would have filled Obi-Wan’s heart with pride, now barely scraped the cuirass he had erected around himself, as impenetrable as the _beskar_ he was de facto wearing. He was in a confused, terrible state of mind; Satine’s loss being so fresh and surreal that he was barely able to focus on anything that went beyond his primary needs, let alone care about it.

However, now that a new day was gained, and along with it a quantum of lost composure, a new realization was creeping its way into his shattered heart: he worried about the repercussions of his breakdown on Anakin and Ahsoka.

Feeling responsible for the two young ones, he reprimanded himself at having - once again - surrendered to his weakness and exposed them to a dangerous, un-Jedi-like way of dealing with loss. He knew how susceptible Anakin in particular was to the subject. Fixing his mistake would be very hard - if not impossible - at this point. Exuding guilt and embarrassment, he set his intentions on at least making clear that his behavior had not been an exemplar one.

 

Anakin, however, wasn’t fooled. Before his Master could even open his mouth, he preceded him.

“There’s no way you can pretend that you’re over it, Obi-Wan. I know how much you’re hurting” he frowned at what he perceived as a betrayal from his Master’s side. His dehumanizing return to stiff Jedi ways was irksome. What was worst, though, was that he perceived as Obi-Wan’s suffused fear at being in the wrong, at having reacted in an unacceptable manner. Anakin was a creature of straightforwardness.

He stepped closer to his Master, his eyes dangerously loaded with sadness and indignation.

“You _loved_ her!” he shouted “You can’t deny it”

 

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply: “No, I can’t” he swallowed hard.

“Although...being a Jedi, my reaction was out of place” he heard himself enunciate.

Something clicked inside of Anakin right there and then.

“I should’ve imagined it! You don’t understand. You...you’re _different_ _!_ You were brought up here and you never understood. Not even when it’s the natural thing to do! Not with Qui-Gon, not with my mother...not with the woman you loved!”

“Anakin...”

“Maybe _if you did understand_ they wouldn’t be _dead_ today!” he spat in a fit of rage.

The built-up of emotions and fear from the previous night was showing signs of having taken a toll on him.

 

After Anakin descended from his peak of rage, it took one look at Obi-Wan’s face to make him realize he’d taken things way too far. He couldn’t after all, deny the silent, consumptive struggle he’d witnessed his Master go through after Qui-Gon’s premature parting.

He hunched his shoulders, suddenly contrite: “Master, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

 

Tears were welling in Obi-Wan’s blue eyes, however he never allowed them to fall. Instead, he cut his former’s apprentice words:

“No, Anakin. You are _right_. I _don’t_ understand” he said dryly.

Anakin bit his lip, regretting everything he’d just said.

 

“That’s why I believe the time has come for me to seek knowledge” his eyes were distant but his voice was focused “I owe this to you, Anakin, as your old Master”.

He caressed the hilt of his lightsaber with his thumb, his eyes misty.

 

Anakin, on his hand, was suddenly confused. “What do you mean?” he asked as Obi-Wan started walking toward the door.

The older Jedi stood still for the briefest moment, whispering “Sorry Anakin. I must do this alone”

“Master, wait!” but Obi-Wan was already out of reach.


	12. The Heart is the Crystal of the Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan is inevitably drawn to a certain place in space and time.

The crystal is the heart of the blade.  
The heart is the crystal of the Jedi.  
The Jedi is the crystal of the Force.  
The Force is the blade of the heart.

 

Mandalore, Mandalore Sector, 20 BBY

 

The shrine was silent, the air so still it resonated with voices of ages past and echoes from galaxies as far away as to seem a mirage.  
The enclosed space was akin to a hollow spot in the galaxy, a place where past, present and future forces fused in sacred reflection.  
The last step of a long journey and the first one to a new one, the point where the mouth of the Ouroboros met its tail.

The rock at the entrance of the shrine moved timidly, signaling the arrival of a visitor, although it being way past closing time.  
However, no keys were needed by this particular wanderer.

He stood still, taking in the countless rows of tombs and sepulchres that adorned the sides of that endless interior.  
Humbled by its solemnity, driven by the Force, he advanced slowly, feet pounding lightly against the stone floor at each step, adding the unique vibrations of his presence to all those that already coexisted there.  
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, coming in contact with the echoes, letting them fill him, summoning their strength to accept the here and now.  
Darkness retreating, he welcomed the Light. Peace. He was ready.

Opening his eyes, he drifted to the bottom of the shrine.  
Curious. Although having never physically been in that place before, his legs knew exactly where to conduct him, as if following the directions of a newly downloaded, meticulously-detailed mental map.  
Strangely, he wasn’t surprised when he found it. He had been dreading the moment when it would happen, but now that it had, he felt no worse.  
As he approached it, a flock of convorees momentarily obscured the light that filtered through a glass hatch on the high, vaulted ceiling.

A simple boulder, with a plain Mando’a inscription that bore her name.  
No waxing lyrical eulogies, no profligate panegyrics. Not a hint of recognition.  
Nothing let in on the nature of the ruler interred in there, for the burial happened in a hurry, a mere formality in a time of chaos.  
Now, after the ultimate sacrifice of martyrdom for the very people she had lived for, she had found sanctuary underground, where her bones would be no different from the infinite other bones Death had strewn across lands and seas.

He fell to his knees, inhaling sharply, brushing the cold, rough surface with his fingertips. His warmth alone wouldn’t reverse Death’s coldness. Even hope, the last ray to fade, averted that sorrowful place. Grief clouded his eyes.  
He summoned courage, for he needed to remain focused, or else he wouldn’t be able to carry his mission through.

“I never thought I would live to see you becoming one with the Force, Satine” he whispered.  
It was true. Although aware of the dangers she had been exposed to her whole life (ironically, had she not been in mortal peril, they would have never met each other), he had always believed he would be the first to go, probably by a long shot.  
Apparently, not even her fierce, beautiful life-blood was enough to shield her from the deathly thorns of darkness.

Obi-Wan Kenobi felt a tear roll down his cheek as pictures of her destroyed legacy came to his mind.  
He extracted his lightsaber, his movement slow but unfaltering.  
“No amount of apologies will erase what I caused” he spoke with a trembling, self-loathing voice, unscrewing the power cell of his weapon.  
“I am not looking for atonement”  
He separated the handgrip from the reargrip, exposing the crystal chamber.  
“I don’t know if I can bring what you fought for back to your people. As you know, I am not powerful, nor influential, nor capable enough”

Here it was. The kyber crystal. Pulsating with the Force. His life force.  
He extracted it from the weapon. By separating it from its warlike case of transient human preoccupations, he reduced it to an essential pearl of energy.  
“This is me at my barest, Satine. A piece of my heart died alongside you in the throne room. This is my heart, Satine...”

He held the crystal high in his hands, so as to interpose it between the tombstone and his own eyes, shining of a similar light themselves.  
“...it has always belonged to you. It always will”  
He laid it down on her grave, a little ray of blue light casting itself over the somber gray.  
Finding a crack in the stone, he rolled it in there, so that it could stay in place.

Ever since receiving Bo-Katan’s message notifying him of the burial, a clear indication that she’d been aware of his loyalty to her sister, he had felt the urge of leaving Satine something of himself, something significant that would represent the mark she had left on him.  
Being a Jedi, Obi-Wan had no possessions, nor credits to spend on anything personal. All he owned was his lightsaber, his most precious belonging, containing a fragment of one of the most formidable minerals in the entire galaxy. Disassembled, nothing remained of deadly weapon,

Satine Kryze was dead. The part of him that died with her would never come back, no amount of adherence to the Jedi Code would change that. That part was represented by the kyber crystal, the heart of the Jedi, in a certain sense. But the kyber was vibrating with the Force, very much “alive”. Through it, he could keep her alive as well. They would never again be separated.  
And maybe, just maybe, all the unsaid words, all the mistakes and lost possibilities would hurt a little less. He regretted not having conceded her more of his love. Now that everything was over, all their preoccupations and self-limitations seemed so trivial.  
She had never been a hindrance to his being a Jedi, never. Paradoxically, hunting Maul had. Maul. The mere mentioning of that creature made him sick. But he wouldn’t surrender to hatred. Not in her name.  
In her name, he would go on and love. He would be a better Jedi. Sacrifice himself for his duty and watch over Anakin, maybe allow him some space, be a little tolerant, to grant him a life more devoid of regrets than his own had been, to make sure he’d reach his highest potential.

He inserted the new kyber crystal he had procured himself before landing on Mandalore in his lightsaber, still contemplative, then he stood up, walking towards the exit.  
As he got a glimpse of the now dark sky above through the hatch on the roof, he noticed the night was bereft of stars. Or maybe, her passing had turned the firmament off in his eyes.  
The only star to still shine was the kyber that now laid with Satine. It made perfect sense.  
His life purpose had never been more clear, as he was readier than ever to give.

Little did he know, as lost as he was in his own thoughts, someone had witnessed the entire scene.  
A pair of prying eyes followed him until he exited the shrine, rolling the rock back in place as he left.

“Interesting” the concealed figure thought.


End file.
